Call number 973.78 D27c 1913 (Davis Library, UNC-CH)

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THE ANTE-BELLUM HOME OF JUDGE THOMAS GIBBES
MORGAN . . . . . 308 On Church Street, Baton Rouge, La., now the property of
St. Joseph Academy, and used as an annex.

INTRODUCTION
IT IS perhaps due to a chance conversation, held some
seventeen years ago in New York, that this Diary of the
Civil War was saved from destruction.

A Philadelphian had been talking with my mother of
North and South, and had alluded to the engagement
between the Essex and the Arkansas, on the Mississippi,
as a brilliant victory for the Federal navy. My mother
protested, at once; said that she and her sister Miriam,
and several friends, had been witnesses, from the levee,
to the fact that the Confederates had fired and
abandoned their own ship when the machinery broke
down, after two shots had been exchanged: the
Federals, cautiously turning the point, had then captured
but a smoking hulk. The Philadelphian gravely corrected
her; history, it appeared, had consecrated, on the
strength of an official report, the version more agreeable
to Northern pride.

"But I wrote a description of the whole, just a few
hours after it occurred!" my mother insisted. "Early in the
war I began to keep a diary, and continued until the very
end; I had to find some vent for my feelings, and I would
not make an exhibition of myself by talking, as so many
women did. I have written while resting to recover breath in
the midst of a stampede; I have even written with shells

bursting over the house in which I sat, ready to flee
but waiting for my mother and sisters to finish their
preparations."

"If that record still existed, it would be invaluable,"
said the Philadelphian. "We Northerners are sincerely
anxious to know what Southern women did and thought
at that time, but the difficulty is to find authentic
contemporaneous evidence. All that I, for one, have
seen, has been marred by improvement in the light of
subsequent events."

"You may read my evidence as it was written from
March 1862 until April 1865," my mother declared
impulsively.

At our home in Charleston, on her return, she
unstitched with trembling hands a linen-bound parcel
always kept in her tall, cedar-lined wardrobe of curled
walnut. On it was scratched in ink "To be burned
unread after my death"; it contained, she had once told
me, a record of no interest save to her who had written
it and lacked the courage to re-read it; a narrative of
days she had lived, of joys she had lost; of griefs
accepted, of vain hopes cherished.

From the linen, as the stitches were cut, fell five
blank books of different sizes. Two, of convenient
dimensions, might have been intended for diaries;
the other three, somewhat unwieldy, were partly
used ledgers from Judge P. H. Morgan's office.
They were closely written in a clear, firm hand;
the ink, of poor quality, had faded in many places to
a pale brown scarcely darker than the deep yellow to

which time had burned the paper. The effort to read
under such conditions, and the tears shed over the
scenes evoked, might well have cost my mother her
sight; but she toiled for many weeks, copying out the
essential portions of the voluminous record for the
benefit of the Northerner who really wished to know.

Her transcription finished, she sent it to Philadelphia.
It was in due course returned, with cold regrets that the
temptation to rearrange it had not been resisted. No
Southerner at that time could possibly have had opinions
so just or foresight so clear as those here attributed to a
young girl. Explanation was not asked, nor justification
allowed: the case, tried by one party alone, with
evidence seen from one standpoint alone, had been
judged without appeal.

Keenly wounded and profoundly discouraged, my
mother returned the diaries to their linen envelope, and
never saw them again. But my curiosity had been roused
by these incidents; in the night, thoughts of the records
would haunt me, bringing ever the ante-bellum scent of
the cedar-lined wardrobe. I pleaded for the preservation
of the volumes, and succeeded at last when, beneath the
injunction that they should be burned, my mother wrote
a deed of gift to me with permission to make such use of
them as I might think fitting.

Reading those pages for myself, of late, as I
transcribed them in my turn, I confess to having

Here was a girl who, by her own admission, had
known but ten months' schooling in her life, and had
educated herself at home because of her yearning for
knowledge; and yet she wrote in a style so pure, with a
command of English so thorough, that rare are the pages
where she had to stop for the alteration of so much as
one word. The very haste of noting what had just
occurred, before more should come, had disturbed the
pure line of very few among these flowing sentences.
There are certain uses of words to which the twentieth
century purist will take exception; but if he is familiar
with Victorian literature he will know that these points
have been solved within the last few decades - and not
all solved to the satisfaction of everyone, even now.

But underlying this remarkable feat of style, are a
fairness of treatment and a balance of judgment
incredible at such a period and in an author so
young. On such a day, we may note an entry
denouncing the Federals before their arrival at
Baton Rouge; another page, and we see that the
Federal officers are courteous and considerate, we
hear regrets that denunciations should have been
dictated by prejudice. Does Farragut bombard a
town occupied by women and children, or does
Butler threaten to arm negroes against them? Be
sure, then, that this Southern girl will not spare
adjectives to condemn them! But do Southern

women exaggerate in applying to all Federals the
opprobrium deserved by some? Then those women will
be criticized for forgetting the reserve imposed upon
ladies. This girl knew then what history has since
established, and what enlightened men and women on
both sides of Mason and Dixon's line have since
acknowledged: that in addition to the gentlemen in the
Federal ranks who always behaved as gentlemen
should, there were others, both officers and privates,
who had donned the Federal uniform because of the
opportunity for rapine which offered, and who were as
unworthy of the Stars and Stripes as they would have
been of the Stars and Bars.

I can understand, therefore, that this record should
meet with skepticism at the hands of theorists committed
to an opinion, or of skimmers who read guessing the end
of a sentence before they reach the middle. But the
originals exist to-day, and have been seen by others than
myself; and I pledge myself here to the assertion that I
have taken no liberties, have made no alterations, but
have strictly adhered to my task of transcription, merely
omitting here and there passages which deal with
matters too personal to merit the interest of the public.

Those who read seriously, and with unbiased
mind, will need no external guarantees of authenticity,
however; for the style is of that spontaneous
quality which no imitation could attain, and which

attempted improvement could only mar. The very
construction of the whole - for it does appear as a
whole - is influenced by the circumstances which made
the life of that tragic period.

The author begins with an airy appeal to Madame
Idleness - in order to forget. Then, the war seemed a
sacred duty, an heroic endeavor, an inevitable trial,
according as Southerners chose to take it; but the
prevailing opinion was that the solution would come in
victory for Southern arms, whether by their own
unaided might or with the support of English
intervention. The seat of war was far removed, and but
for the absence of dear ones at the front and anxiety
about them, Southern women would have been little
disturbed in their routine of household duties. But
presently the roar of cannon draws near, actual danger
is experienced in some cases, suffering and privation
must be accepted in all. Thenceforth, the women are
part of the war; there may be interludes of plantation life
momentarily secure from bullets and from oppression,
yet the cloud is felt hanging ever lower and blacker.
Gradually, the writer's gay spirit fails; an injury to her
spine, for which adequate medical care cannot be found
in the Confederacy, and the condition of her mother, all
but starving at Clinton, drive these Southern women to
the protection of a Union relative in New Orleans. The
hated Eagle Oath must be taken, the beloved
Confederacy must be renounced at least in words.
Entries in the Diary become briefer and briefer, yet

are sustained unto the bitter end, when the deaths of
two brothers, and the crash of the Lost Cause, are told
with the tragic reserve of a broken heart.

I have alluded to passages omitted because too
personal. That the clearness of the narrative may not
suffer, I hope to be pardoned for explaining briefly,
here, the position of Sarah Morgan's family at the
outbreak of the Civil War.

Her father, Judge Thomas Gibbes Morgan, had been
Collector of the Port of New Orleans, and in 1861 was
Judge of the District Court of the Parish of Baton
Rouge. In complete sympathy with Southern rights, he
disapproved of Secession as a movement fomented by
hotheads on both sides, but he declared for it when his
State so decided. He died at his home in Baton Rouge
in November, 1861, before the arrival of Farragut's fleet.

Judge Thomas Gibbes Morgan's eldest son, Philip
Hickey Morgan, was also a Judge, of the Second
District Court of the Parish of Orleans. Judge P. H.
Morgan (alluded to as "Brother" and his wife as
"Sister" throughout the Diary) disapproved of
Secession like his father, but did not stand by his
State. He declared himself for the Union, and
remained in New Orleans when the Federals took
possession, but refused to bear arms against his
brothers and friends. His position enabled him to
render signal services to many Confederate prisoners
suffering under Butler's rule. And it was a conversation

of his with President Hayes, when he told the full,
unprejudiced truth about the Dual Government and the
popular sentiment of Louisiana, which put an end to
Reconstruction there by the Washington Government's
recognition of General Francis T. Nicholls, elected
Governor by the people, instead of Packard, declared
Governor by the Republican Returning Board of
the State. Judge P. H. Morgan had proved his
disinterestedness in his report to the President; for the
new Democratic régime meant his own resignation from
the post of Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of
Louisiana which he held under the Republicans. He
applied then to himself a piece of advice which he later
was to give a young relative mentioned in the pages of
this Diary: "Always remember that it is best to be in
accord with the sentiments of the vast majority of the
people in your State. They are more apt to be right, on
public questions of the day, than the individual citizen."

If Judge Thomas Gibbes Morgan's eldest son stayed
within the Union lines because he would not sanction
Secession, his eldest daughter - Lavinia - was on the
Federal side also, married to Colonel Richard
Coulter Drum, then stationed in California, and
destined to become, in days of peace, Adjutant-General
under President Cleveland's first administration.
Though spared the necessity of fighting against his
wife's brothers, Colonel Drum was largely
instrumental in checking the Secession movement

in California which would probably have assured
the success of the South.

In the early days of Secession agitation, another son
of Judge T. G. Morgan, Henry, had died in a duel over
a futile quarrel which busybodies had envenomed. The
three remaining sons had gone off to the war. Thomas
Gibbes Morgan, Jr., married to Lydia, daughter of
General A. G. Carter and a cousin of Mrs. Jefferson
Davis, was Captain in the Seventh Louisiana Regiment,
serving under Stonewall Jackson; George Mather
Morgan, unmarried, was a Captain in the First
Louisiana, also with Jackson in Virginia. The youngest,
James Morris Morgan, had resigned from Annapolis,
where he was a cadet, and hurried back to enlist in the
Confederate navy.

At the family home in Baton Rouge, only women and
children remained. There was Judge Morgan's widow,
Sarah Fowler Morgan; a married daughter, Eliza or
"Lilly," with her five children; and two unmarried
daughters, Miriam and Sarah. "Lilly's" husband, J.
Charles La Noue, came and went; unable to abandon
his large family without protector or resources, he had
not joined the regular army, but took a part in battles
near whatever place of refuge he had found for those
dependent on him. We note, for instance, that he helped
in the Confederate attack on Baton Rouge, together
with General Carter, whose age had prevented him from
taking regular service.

The war over, Sarah Morgan knitted together the
threads of her torn life and faced her present, in
preparation for whatever the future might hold. In South
Carolina, under Reconstruction, she met a young
Englishman, Captain Francis Warrington Dawson, who
had left his home in London to fight for a cause where
his chivalrous nature saw right threatened by might. In
the Confederate navy under Commodore Pegram, in the
Army of Northern Virginia under Longstreet, at the close
of the war he was Chief Ordnance officer to General
Fitzhugh Lee. But although the force of arms, of men, of
money, of mechanical resources, of international
support, had decided against the Confederacy, he
refused to acknowledge permanent defeat for Southern
ideals, and so cast his lot with those beside whom he
had fought. His ambition was to help his adopted
country in reconquering through journalism and sound
politics that which seemed lost through war. What he
accomplished in South Carolina is a matter of public
record to-day. The part played in this work by Sarah
Morgan as his wife is known to all who approached
them during their fifteen years of a married life across
which no shadow ever fell.

Sarah Morgan Dawson was destined to outlive not
only her husband, but all save three of her eight
brothers and sisters, and most of the relatives and

friends mentioned in the pages which follow; was
destined to endure deep affliction once more, and to
renounce a second home dearer than that first whose
wreck she recorded during the war. Yet never did her
faith, her courage, her steadfastness fail her, never did
the light of an almost childlike trust in God and in
mankind fade from her clear blue eyes. The Sarah
Morgan who, as a girl, could stifle her sobs as she
forced herself to laugh or to sing, was the mother I
knew in later years.

I love most to remember her in the broad tree-shaded
avenues of Versailles where, dreaming of a distant tragic
past, she found ever new strength to meet the present.
Death claimed her not far from there, in Paris, at a
moment when her daughter in America, her son in
Africa, were powerless to reach her. But souls like unto
hers leave their mark in passing through the world; and,
though in a foreign land, separated from all who had
been dear to her, she received from two friends such
devotion as few women deserve in life, and such as few
other women are capable of giving.

She had done more than live and love: - she had
endured while endurance was demanded; and, released
from the house of bondage, she had, without trace of
bitterness in her heart, forgiven those who had caused
her martyrdom.

A CONFEDERATE GIRL'S
DIARY

BOOK I

BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA,
March 9th, 1862.

HERE I am, at your
service, Madame Idleness,
waiting for any suggestion it may please you to put
in my weary brain, as a means to pass this dull,
cloudy Sunday afternoon; for the great Pike clock
over the way has this instant struck only half-past three;
and if a rain is added to the high wind that has been
blowing ever since the month commenced, and
prevents my going to Mrs. Brunot's before dark, I fear
I shall fall a victim to "the blues" for the first time in my
life. Indeed it is dull. Miriam went to Linewood with
Lydia yesterday, and I miss them beyond all expression.
Miriam is so funny! She says she cannot live without
me, and yet she can go away, and stay for months
without missing me in the slightest degree. Extremely
funny! And I - well, it is absurd to fancy myself alive
without Miriam. She would rather not visit with me,
and yet, be it for an hour or a month, I never halfway
enjoy myself without her, away from home. Miriam is
my "Rock ahead" in life; I'll founder on her yet. It's a
grand sight for people out of reach, who will not
come in contact with the breakers, but it is quite

another thing to me, perpetually dancing on those sharp
points in my little cockleshell that forms so ludicrous a
contrast to the grand scene around. I am sure to
founder!

I hold that every family has at heart one genius, in
some line, no matter what - except in our family, where
each is a genius, in his own way. Hem! And Miriam has
a genius for the piano. Now I never could bear to
compete with any one, knowing that it is the law of my
being to be inferior to others, consequently to fail, and
failure is so humiliating to me. So it is, that people may
force me to abandon any pursuit by competing with me;
for knowing that failure is inevitable, rather than fight
against destiny I give up de bonne grâce. Originally, I
was said to have a talent for the piano, as well as Miriam.
Sister and Miss Isabella said I would make a better
musician than she, having more patience and perseverance.
However, I took hardly six months' lessons to her ever so
many years; heard how well she played, got disgusted
with myself, and gave up the piano at fourteen, with
spasmodic fits of playing every year or so. At sixteen,
Harry gave me a guitar. Here was a new field where I
would have no competitors. I knew no one who played
on it; so I set to work, and taught myself to manage it,
mother only teaching me how to tune it. But Miriam
took a fancy to it, and I taught her all I knew; but as she
gained, I lost my relish, and if she had not soon abandoned
it, I would know nothing of it now. She does not

know half that I do about it; they tell me I play much
better than she; yet they let her play on it in company
before me, and I cannot pretend to play after. Why is
it? It is not vanity, or I would play, confident of
excelling her. It is not jealousy, for I love to see her
show her talents. It is not selfishness; I love her too
much to be selfish to her. What is it then? "Simply lack
of self-esteem" I would say if there was no phrenologist
near to correct me, and point out that well-developed
hump at the extreme southern and heavenward
portion of my Morgan head. Self-esteem or not, Mr.
Phrenologist, the result is, that Miriam is by far the best
performer in Baton Rouge, and I would rank forty-third
even in the delectable village of Jackson.

And yet I must have some ear for music. To "know
as many songs as Sarah" is a family proverb; not very
difficult songs, or very beautiful ones, to be sure,
besides being very indifferently sung; but the tunes will
run in my head, and it must take some ear to catch
them. People say to me, "Of course you play?" to
which I invariably respond, "Oh, no, but Miriam plays
beautifully!" "You sing, I believe?" "Not at all - except
for father" (that is what I used to say) - "and the
children. But Miriam sings." "You are fond of dancing?"
"Very; but I cannot dance as well as Miriam." "Of
course, you are fond of society?" "No, indeed! Miriam
is, and she goes to all the parties and returns all the visits
for me." The consequence is, that if the person who

questions is a stranger, he goes off satisfied that "that
Miriam must be a great girl; but that little sister of
hers - ! Well! a prig, to say the least!"

So it is Miriam catches all my fish - and so it is, too,
that it is not raining, and I'm off.

April 7th.

Until that dreary 1861, I had no idea of sorrow or
grief. . . . How I love to think of myself at that time! Not
as myself, but as some happy, careless child who
danced through life, loving God's whole world too much
to love any particular one, outside of her own family.
She was more childish then - yet I like her for all her
folly; I can say it now, for she is as dead as though she
was lying underground.

Now do not imagine that Sarah has become an aged
lady in the fifteen months that have elapsed since, for it
is no such thing; her heart does ache occasionally, but
that is a secret between her and this little rosewood
furnished room; and when she gets over it, there is
no one more fond of making wheelbarrows of the
children, or of catching Charlie or mother by the foot and
making them play lame chicken. . . . Now all this done by
a young lady who remembers eighteen months ago with
so much regret that she has lost so much of her high
spirits - might argue that her spirits were before
tremendous; and yet they were not. That other Sarah
was ladylike, I am sure, in her wildest moments, but
there is something hurried and boisterous in this

one's tricks that reminds me of some one who is making
a merit of being jolly under depressing circumstances.
No! that is not a nice Sarah now, to my taste.

The commencement of '61 promised much pleasure
for the rest of the year, and though Secession was
talked about, I do not believe any one anticipated the
war that has been desolating our country ever since,
with no prospect of terminating for some time to come.
True the garrison was taken, but then several pleasant
officers of the Louisiana army were stationed there,
and made quite an agreeable addition to our small
parties, and we did not think for a moment that trouble
would grow out of it - at least, we girls did not. Next
Louisiana seceded, but still we did not trouble ourselves
with gloomy anticipations, for many strangers visited the
town, and our parties, rides, and walks grew gayer and
more frequent.

One little party - shall I ever forget it? - was on the
9th of March, I think; such an odd, funny little party!
Such queer things happened! What a fool Mr. McG-
made of himself! Even more so than usual. But hush! It's
not fair to laugh at a lady - under peculiar circumstances.
And he tried so hard to make himself agreeable,
poor fellow, that I ought to like him for being so obedient
to my commands. "Say something new; something
funny," I said, tired of a subject on which he had been

expatiating all the evening; for I had taken a long ride with
him before sunset, he had escorted me to Mrs. Brunot's,
and here he was still at my side, and his conversation did
not interest me. To hear, with him, was to obey.
"Something funny? Well -" here he commenced telling
something about somebody, the fun of which seemed to
consist in the somebody's having "knocked his shins"
against something else. I only listened to the latter part; I
was bored, and showed it. "Shins!" was I to laugh at
such a story?

April 12th.

Day before yesterday,
just about this time of evening,
as I came home from the graveyard, Jimmy unexpectedly
came in. Ever since the 12th of February he has been
waiting on the Yankees' pleasure, in the Mississippi,
at all places below Columbus, and having been
under fire for thirteen days at Tiptonville, Island
No. 10 having surrendered Monday night; and
Commodore Hollins thinking it high time to take
possession of the ironclad ram at New Orleans, and give
them a small party below the forts, he carried off his little
aide from the McRae Tuesday morning, and left him here
Thursday evening, to our infinite delight, for we felt as
though we would never again see our dear little Jimmy.
He has grown so tall, and stout, that it is really astonishing,
considering the short time he has been away. . . . To
our great distress, he jumped up from dinner, and
declared he must go to the city on the very next

boat. Commodore Hollins would need him, he must be
at his post, etc., and in twenty minutes he was off, the
rascal, before we could believe he had been here at all.
There is something in his eye that reminds me of Harry,
and tells me, that, like Hal, he will die young.

And these days that are going by remind me of Hal,
too. I am walking in our footsteps of last year. The
eighth was the day we gave him a party, on his return
home. I see him so distinctly standing near the pier
table, talking to Mr. Sparks, whom he had met only that
morning, and who, three weeks after, had Harry's
blood upon his hands. He is a murderer now, without
aim or object in life, as before; with only one desire - to
die - and death still flees from him, and he Dares not rid
himself of life.

All those dancing there that night have undergone trial
and affliction since. Father is dead, and Harry. Mr.
Trezevant lies at Corinth with his skull fractured by a
bullet; every young man there has been in at least one
battle since, and every woman has cried over her son,
brother, or sweetheart, going away to the wars, or lying
sick and wounded. And yet we danced that night, and
never thought of bloodshed! The week before Louisiana
seceded, Jack Wheat stayed with us, and we all liked
him so much, and he thought so much of us; - and last
week - a week ago to-day - he was killed on the
battlefield of Shiloh.

Among the many who
visited us, in the beginning
of 1861, there was Mr. Bradford. I took a dislike to him
the first time I ever saw him, and, being accustomed to
say just what I pleased to all the other gentlemen, tried it
with him. It was at dinner, and for a long while I had the
advantage, and though father would sometimes look
grave, Gibbes, and all at my end of the table, would
scream with laughter. At last Mr. Bradford commenced
to retaliate, and my dislike changed into respect for a
man who could make an excellent repartee with perfect
good-breeding; and after dinner, when the others took
their leave, and he asked permission to remain, - during
his visit, which lasted until ten o'clock, he had gone over
such a variety of subjects, conversing so well upon all,
that Miriam and I were so interested that we forgot to
have the gas lit!

April 17th.

And another was silly
little Mr. B-r, my little golden
calf. What a - don't call names! I owe him a grudge for
"cold hands," and the other day, when I heard of his
being wounded at Shiloh, I could not help laughing a
little at Tom B-r's being hurt. What was the use of
throwing a nice, big cannon ball, that might have knocked
a man down, away on that poor little fellow, when a pea
from a popgun would have made the same impression?
Not but what he is brave, but little Mr.B-r is so soft.

Then there was that rattle-brain Mr. T-t who,
commencing one subject, never ceased speaking until he
had touched on all. One evening he came in talking, and
never paused even for a reply until he bowed himself
out, talking still, when Mr. Bradford, who had been
forced to silence as well as the rest, threw himself back
with a sigh of relief and exclaimed, "This man talks like
a woman!" I thought it the best description of Mr. T-t's
conversation I had ever heard. It was all on the surface,
no pretensions to anything except to put the greatest
possible number of words of no meaning in one
sentence, while speaking of the most trivial thing. Night
or day, Mr. T-t never passed home without crying out to
me, "Ces jolis yeux bleus!" and if the parlor were
brightly lighted so that all from the street might see us,
and be invisible to us themselves, I always nodded my
head to the outer darkness and laughed, no matter who
was present, though it sometimes created remark. You
see, I knew the joke. Coming from a party escorted by
Mr. B-r, Miriam by Mr. T-t, 1 we
had to wait a long time
before Rose opened the door, which interval I employed
in dancing up and down the gallery - followed by my
cavalier - singing, -

which naïve remark Mr. B-r, not speaking
French, lost entirely, and Mr. T-t endorsed it
with his approbation and belief in it, and ever afterwards
called me "Ces jolis yeux bleus."

April 19th, 1862.

Another date in Hal's
short history! I see myself
walking home with Mr. McG- just after sundown,
meeting Miriam and Dr. Woods at the gate;
only that was a Friday instead of a Saturday, as
this. From the other side, Mr. Sparks comes up and
joins us. We stand talking in the bright moonlight
which makes Miriam look white and statue-like. I
am holding roses in my hand, in return for which
one little pansy has been begged from my garden,
and is now figuring as a shirt-stud. I turn to speak
to that man of whom I said to Dr. Woods, before I
even knew his name, "Who is this man who passes
here so constantly? I feel that I shall hate him to
my dying day." He told me his name was Sparks,
a good, harmless fellow, etc. And afterwards, when
I did know him, [Dr. Woods] would ask every time
we met, "Well! do you hate Sparks yet?" I could
not really hate any one in my heart, so I always
answered, "He is a good-natured fool, but I will
hate him yet." But even now I cannot: my only
feeling is intense pity for the man who has dealt
us so severe a blow; who made my dear father bow
his gray head, and shed such bitter tears.

hurrying to the grand Meeting, where the state
of the country is to be discussed, and the three young
men bow and hurry off, too. Later, at eleven o'clock,
Miriam and I are up at Lydia's waiting (until the
boat comes) with Miss Comstock who is going away.
As usual, I am teasing and romping by turns.
Harry suddenly stands in the parlor door, looking
very grave, and very quiet. He is holding father's
stick in his hand, and says he has come to take us
over home. I was laughing still, so I said, "Wait,"
while I prepared for some last piece of folly, but he
smiled for the first time, and throwing his arm
around me, said, "Come home, you rogue!" and
laughing still, I followed him.

He left us in the hall, saying he must go to Charlie's
a moment, but to leave the door open for him. So
we went up, and I ran in his room, and lighted his
gas for him, as I did every night when we went up
together. In a little while I heard him come in and
go to his room. I knew nothing then; but next day,
going into mother's room, I saw him standing before
the glass door of her armoir, looking at a black coat
he had on. Involuntarily I cried out, "Oh, don't,
Hal!" "Don't what? is n't it a nice coat?" he asked.
"Yes; but it is buttoned up to the throat, and I
don't like to see it. It looks -" here I went
out as abruptly as I came in; that black coat so
tightly buttoned troubled me.

He came to our room after a while and said he
was going ten miles out in the country for a few

days. I begged him to stay, and reproached him for
going away so soon after he had come home. But he
said he must, adding, "Perhaps I am tired of you, and
want to see something new. I'll be so glad to get back in
a few days." Father said yes, he must go, so he went
without any further explanation.

Walking out to Mr. Davidson's that evening, Lydia
and I sat down on a fallen rail beyond the Catholic
graveyard, and there she told me what had happened.
The night before, sitting on Dr. Woods's gallery, with six
or eight others who had been singing, Hal called on Mr.
Henderson to sing. He complied by singing one that was
not nice.1 Old Mr.
Sparks got up to leave, and Hal said,
"I hope we are not disturbing you?" No, he said he was
tired and would go home. As soon as he was gone, his
son, who I have since heard was under the influence of
opium, - though Hal always maintained that he was
not, - said it was a shame to disturb his poor old father.
Hal answered, "You heard what he said. We did not
disturb him." "You are a liar!" the other cried. That is a
name that none of our family has either merited or borne
with; and quick as thought Hal sprang to his feet and
struck him across the face with the walking-stick he
held. The blow sent the lower part across the balcony
in the street, as the spring was loosened by it, while
the upper part, to which was fastened the sword - for
it was father's sword-cane - remained in his hand.

I doubt that he ever before knew the cane could come
apart. Certainly he did not perceive it, until the other
whined piteously he was taking advantage over an
unarmed man; when, cursing him, he (Harry) threw it
after the body of the cane, and said, "Now we are
equal." The other's answer was to draw a knife,1 and
was about to plunge it into Harry, who disdained to
flinch, when Mr. Henderson threw himself on Mr.
Sparks and dragged him off.

It was a little while after that Harry came for us. The
consequence of this was a challenge from Mr. Sparks in
the morning, which was accepted by Harry's friends,
who appointed Monday, at Greenwell, to meet. Lydia
did not tell me that; she said she thought it had been
settled peaceably, so I was not uneasy, and only
wanted Harry to come back from Seth David's soon.
The possibility of his fighting never occurred to me.

Sunday evening I was on the front steps with Miriam
and Dr. Woods, talking of Harry and wishing he would
come. "You want Harry!" the doctor repeated after
me; "you had better learn to live without him." "What an
absurdity!" I said and wondered when he would come.
Still later, Miriam, father, and I were in the parlor, when
there was a tap on the window, just above his head, and
I saw a hand, for an instant. Father hurried out, and we
heard several voices; and then steps going away.
Mother came down and asked who had been there,

but we only knew that, whoever it was, father had
afterward gone with them. Mother went on: "There is
something going on, which is to be kept from me. Every
one seems to know it, and to make a secret of it." I said
nothing, for I had promised Lydia not to tell; and even I
did not know all.

When father came back, Harry was with him. I saw
by his nod, and "How are you, girls," how he wished us
to take it, so neither moved from our chairs, while he sat
down on the sofa and asked what kind of a sermon we
had had. And we talked of anything except what we
were thinking of, until we went upstairs.

Hal afterwards told me that he had been arrested up
there, and father went with him to give bail; and that the
sheriff had gone out to Greenwell after Mr Sparks. He
told me all about it next morning, saying he was glad it
was all over, but sorry for Mr. Sparks; for he had a
blow on his face which nothing would wash out. I said,
"Hal, if you had fought, much as I love you, I would
rather he had killed you than that you should have killed
him. I love you too much to be willing to see blood on
your hands." First he laughed at me, then said, "If I had
killed him, I never would have seen you again."

We thought it was all over; so did he. But Baton
Rouge was wild about it. Mr. Sparks was the bully
of the town, having nothing else to do, and whenever
he got angry or drunk, would knock down anybody
he chose. That same night, before Harry met

him, he had slapped one man, and had dragged another
over the room by the hair; but these coolly went home,
and waited for a voluntary apology. So the mothers,
sisters, and intimate friends of those who had patiently
borne the blows, and being "woolled," vaunted the
example of their heroes, and asked why Dr. Morgan
had not acted as they had done, and waited for an
apology? Then there was another faction who cried only
blood could wash out that blow and make a gentleman
of Mr. Sparks again, - as though he ever had been one!
So knots assembled at street corners, and discussed it,
until father said to us that Monday night, "These people
are so excited, and are trying so hard to make this affair
worse, that I would not be surprised if they shot each
other down in the street," speaking of Harry and the
other.

Hal seemed to think of it no more, though, and
Wednesday said he must go to the city and consult
Brother as to where he should permanently establish
himself. I was sorry; yet glad that he would then get
away from all this trouble. I don't know that I ever saw
him in higher spirits than he was that day and evening,
the 24th. Lilly and Charlie were here until late, and he
laughed and talked so incessantly that we called him
crazy. We might have guessed by his extravagant spirits
that he was trying to conceal something from us. . . .

There is no word in the English language that can
express the state in which we are, and have been, these
last three days. Day before yesterday, news came early
in the morning of three of the enemy's boats passing the
Forts, and then the excitement began. It increased
rapidly on hearing of the sinking of eight of our gunboats
in the engagement, the capture of the Forts, and last
night, of the burning of the wharves and cotton in the city
while the Yankees were taking possession. To-day, the
excitement has reached the point of delirium. I believe I
am one of the most self-possessed in my small circle;
and yet I feel such a craving for news of Miriam, and
mother, and Jimmy, who are in the city, that I suppose I
am as wild as the rest. It is nonsense to tell me I am
cool, with all these patriotic and enthusiastic sentiments.
Nothing can be positively ascertained, save that our
gunboats are sunk, and theirs are coming up to the city.
Everything else has been contradicted until we really do
not know whether the city has been taken or not. We
only know we had best be prepared for anything. So
day before yesterday, Lilly and I sewed up our jewelry,
which may be of use if we have to fly. I vow I will not
move one step, unless carried away. Come what will,
here I remain.

We went this morning to see the cotton burning - a
sight never before witnessed, and probably never
again to be seen. Wagons, drays, - everything

that can be driven or rolled, - were loaded with the
bales and taken a few squares back to burn on the
commons. Negroes were running around, cutting them
open, piling them up, and setting them afire. All were
as busy as though their salvation depended on
disappointing the Yankees. Later, Charlie sent for us to
come to the river and see him fire a flatboat loaded with
the precious material for which the Yankees are risking
their bodies and souls. Up and down the levee, as far as
we could see, negroes were rolling it down to the brink
of the river where they would set them afire and push
the bales in to float burning down the tide. Each sent up
its wreath of smoke and looked like a tiny steamer
puffing away. Only I doubt that from the source to the
mouth of the river there are as many boats afloat on the
Mississippi. The flatboat was piled with as many bales
as it could hold without sinking. Most of them were cut
open, while negroes staved in the heads of barrels of
alcohol, whiskey, etc., and dashed bucketsful over the
cotton. Others built up little chimneys of pine every few
feet, lined with pine knots and loose cotton, to burn
more quickly. There, piled the length of the whole levee,
or burning in the river, lay the work of thousands of
negroes for more than a year past. It had come from
every side. Men stood by who owned the cotton that
was burning or waiting to burn. They either helped, or
looked on cheerfully. Charlie owned but sixteen
bales - a matter of some fifteen hundred dollars;

but he was the head man of the whole affair, and burned
his own, as well as the property of others. A single
barrel of whiskey that was thrown on the cotton, cost
the man who gave it one hundred and twenty-five
dollars. (It shows what a nation in earnest is capable of
doing.) Only two men got on the flatboat with Charlie
when it was ready. It was towed to the middle of the
river, set afire in every place, and then they jumped into
a little skiff fastened in front, and rowed to land. The
cotton floated down the Mississippi one sheet of living
flame, even in the sunlight. It would have been grand at
night. But then we will have fun watching it this evening
anyway; for they cannot get through to-day, though no
time is to be lost. Hundreds of bales remained
untouched. An incredible amount of property has been
destroyed to-day; but no one begrudges it. Every grog-shop
has been emptied, and gutters and pavements are
floating with liquors of all kinds. So that if the Yankees
are fond of strong drink, they will fare ill.

Yesterday, Mr. Hutchinson and a Dr. Moffat called
to ask for me, with a message about Jimmy. I was
absent, but they saw Lilly. Jimmy, they said, was
safe. Though sick in bed, he had sprung up and
had rushed to the wharf at the first tap of the alarm
bell in New Orleans. But as nothing could be done,
he would probably be with us to-day, bringing
mother and Miriam. I have neither heard nor seen
more. The McRae, they said, went to the bottom

with the others. They did not know whether any one
aboard had escaped. God be praised that Jimmy
was not on her then! The new boat to which he was
appointed is not yet finished. So he is saved! I am
distressed about Captain Huger, and could not
refrain from crying, he was so good to Jimmy. But I
remembered Miss Cammack might think it rather tender
and obtrusive, so I dried my eyes and began to hope he
had escaped. Oh! how glad I should be to know he has
suffered no harm. Mr. Hutchinson was on his way
above, going to join others where the final battle is to be
fought on the Mississippi. He had not even time to sit
down; so I was doubly grateful to him for his kindness. I
wish I could have thanked him for being so considerate
of me in my distress now. In her agitation, Lilly gave him
a letter I had been writing to George when I was called
away; and begged him to address it and mail it at
Vicksburg, or somewhere; for no mail will leave here
for Norfolk for a long while to come. The odd part is,
that he does not know George. But he said he would
gladly take charge of it and remember the address,
which Lilly told him was Richmond. Well! if the
Yankees get it they will take it for an insane scrawl. I
wanted to calm his anxiety about us, though I was so
wildly excited that I could only say, "Don't mind us! We
are safe. But fight, George! Fight for us!" The repetition
was ludicrous. I meant so much, too! I only wanted him
to understand he could best defend us there. Ah! Mr.

Yankee! if you had but your brothers in this world, and their
lives hanging by a thread, you too might write wild
letters! And if you want to know what an excited girl
can do, just call and let me show you the use of a small
seven-shooter and a large carving-knife which vibrate
between my belt and my pocket, always ready for
emergencies.

April 27th.

What a day! Last night
came a dispatch that New
Orleans was under British protection, and could not be
bombarded; consequently, the enemy's gunboats would
probably be here this morning, such few as had
succeeded in passing the Forts; from nine to fifteen, it
was said. And the Forts, they said, had not surrendered.
I went to church; but I grew very anxious before it was
over, feeling that I was needed at home. When I
returned, I found Lilly wild with excitement, picking
up hastily whatever came to hand, preparing for instant
flight, she knew not where. The Yankees were in sight;
the town was to be burned; we were to run to the
woods, etc. If the house had to be burned, I had to
make up my mind to run, too. So my treasure-bag tied
around my waist as a bustle, a sack with a few
necessary articles hanging on my arm, some few quite
unnecessary ones, too, as I had not the heart to leave
the old and new prayer books father had given me, and
Miriam's, too; - pistol and carving-knife ready, I stood
awaiting the exodus. I heaped on the bed the treasures I
wanted to burn, matches lying ready to fire the whole at the

last minute. I may here say that, when all was over, I
found I had omitted many things from the holocaust.
This very diary was not included. It would have afforded
vast amusement to the Yankees. There may yet be
occasion to burn them, and the house also. People
fortunately changed their minds about the auto-da-fé just
then; and the Yankees have not yet arrived, at sundown.
So, when the excitement calmed down, poor Lilly
tumbled in bed in a high fever in consequence of terror
and exertion.

[A page torn out]

I was right in that prophecy. For this was not the Will
Pinckney I saw last. So woebegone! so subdued,
careworn, and sad! No trace of his once merry self. He
is good-looking, which he never was before. But I
would rather never have seen him than have found him
so changed. I was talking to a ghost. His was a sad
story. He had held one bank of the river until forced to
retreat with his men, as their cartridges were exhausted,
and General Lovell omitted sending more. They had to
pass through swamps, wading seven and a half miles,
up to their waists in water. He gained the edge of
the swamp, saw they were over the worst, and fell
senseless. Two of his men brought him milk, and "woke
him up," he said. His men fell from exhaustion, were lost,
and died in the swamp; so that out of five hundred, but one
hundred escaped. This he told quietly and sadly, looking
so heartbroken that it was piteous to see such pain. He

showed me his feet, with thick clumsy shoes which an
old negro had pulled off to give him; for his were lost in
the swamp, and he came out bare-footed. They reached
the Lafourche River, I believe, seized a boat, and
arrived here last night. His wife and child were aboard.
Heaven knows how they got there! The men he sent on
to Port Hudson, while he stopped here. I wanted to
bring his wife to stay with us; but he said she could not
bear to be seen, as she had run off just as she had
happened to be at that moment. In half an hour he would
be off to take her to his old home in a carriage. There he
would rejoin his men, on the railroad, and march from
Clinton to the Jackson road, and so on to Corinth. A
long journey for men so disheartened! But they will
conquer in the end. Beauregard's army will increase
rapidly at this rate. The whole country is aroused, and
every man who owns a gun, and many who do not, are
on the road to Corinth. We will conquer yet.

May 5th.

Vile old Yankee boats, four in number, passed up
this morning without stopping. After all our excitement,
this "silent contempt" annihilated me! What in the
world do they mean? The river was covered with
burning cotton; perhaps they want to see where it came
from.

May 9th.

Our lawful (?) owners
have at last arrived. About
sunset, day before yesterday, the Iroquois anchored

here, and a graceful young Federal stepped ashore,
carrying a Yankee flag over his shoulder, and asked the
way to the Mayor's office. I like the style! If we girls of
Baton Rouge had been at the landing, instead of the
men, that Yankee would never have insulted us by flying
his flag in our faces! We would have opposed his
landing except under a flag of truce, but the men let him
alone, and he even found a poor Dutchman willing to
show him the road!

He did not accomplish much; said a formal demand
would be made next day, and asked if it was safe for
the men to come ashore and buy a few necessaries,
when he was assured the air of Baton Rouge was very
unhealthy for Yankee soldiers at night. He promised
very magnanimously not to shell us out if we did not
molest him; but I notice none of them dare set their feet
on terra firma, except the officer who has now
called three times on the Mayor, and who is said to
tremble visibly as he walks the streets.

Last evening came the demand: the town must be
surrendered immediately; the Federal flag Must
be
raised; they would grant us the same terms they
granted New Orleans. Jolly terms those were! The
answer was worthy of a Southerner. It was, "The
town was defenseless; if we had cannon, there
were not men enough to resist; but if forty vessels
lay at the landing, - it was intimated we were in their
power, and more ships coming up, - we would not
surrender; if they wanted, they might come and

Take us; if they wished the Federal flag
hoisted over the
Arsenal, they might put it up for themselves, the town
had no control over Government property." Glorious!
What a pity they did not shell the town! But they are
taking us at our word, and this morning they are landing
at the Garrison.

"All devices, signs, and flags of the Confederacy shall
be suppressed." So says Picayune Butler. Good. I
devote all my red, white, and blue silk to the
manufacture of Confederate flags. As soon as one is
confiscated, I make another, until my ribbon is
exhausted, when I will sport a duster emblazoned in high
colors, "Hurra! for the Bonny blue flag!" Henceforth, I
wear one pinned to my bosom - not a duster, but a little
flag; the man who says take it off will have to pull it off
for himself; the man who dares attempt it - well! a pistol
in my pocket fills up the gap. I am capable, too.

This is a dreadful war, to make even the hearts of
women so bitter! I hardly know myself these last few
weeks. I, who have such a horror of bloodshed,
consider even killing in self-defense murder, who
cannot wish them the slightest evil, whose only prayer
is to have them sent back in peace to their own country, - I talk of killing them! For what else do I wear a pistol and
carving-knife? I am afraid I will try them on the first one
who says an insolent word to me. Yes, and repent for it
ever after in sackcloth and ashes. O! if I was only a man!
Then I could don the breeches, and slay them with a will!

If some few Southern women were in the ranks, they
could set the men an example they would not blush to
follow. Pshaw! there are no women here! We are all
men!

May 10th.

Last night about one o'clock I was wakened and told
that mother and Miriam had come. Oh, how glad I
was! I tumbled out of bed half asleep and hugged
Miriam in a dream, but waked up when I got to mother.
They came up under a flag of truce, on a boat going up
for provisions, which, by the way, was brought to by
half a dozen Yankee ships in succession, with a threat
to send a broadside into her if she did not stop - the
wretches knew it must be under a flag of truce; no
boats leave, except by special order to procure
provisions.

What tales they had to tell! They were on the wharf,
and saw the ships sail up the river, saw the broadside
fired into Will Pinckney's regiment, the boats we fired,
our gunboats, floating down to meet them all wrapped
in flames; twenty thousand bales of cotton blazing in a
single pile; molasses and sugar thrown over everything.
They stood there opposite to where one of the ships
landed, expecting a broadside, and resolute not to be
shot in the back. I wish I had been there! And Captain
Huger is not dead! They had hopes of his life for the
first time day before yesterday. Miriam saw the ball that
had just been extracted. He will probably be lame for
the rest of his life. It will be a glory to him. For even

the Federal officers say that never did they see so
gallant a little ship, or one that fought so desperately
as the McRae. Men and officers fought like devils.
Think of all those great leviathans after the poor
little "Widow Mickey"! One came tearing down on
her sideways, while the Brooklyn fired on her from
the other side, when brave Captain Warley put the
nose of the Manassas under the first, and tilted her
over so that the whole broadside passed over, instead
of through, the McRae, who spit back its poor
little fire at both. And after all was lost, she carried
the wounded and the prisoners to New Orleans, and
was scuttled by her own men in port. Glorious
Captain Huger! And think of his sending word to
Jimmy, suffering as he was, that "his little brass
cannon was game to the last." Oh! I hope he will
recover. Brave, dare-devil Captain Warley is prisoner,
and on the way to Fort Warren, that home
of all brave, patriotic men. We'll have him out.
And my poor little Jimmy! If I have not spoken of
him, it is not because I have lost sight of him for a
moment. The day the McRae went down, he arose
from his bed, ill as he was, and determined to rejoin
her, as his own boat, the Mississippi, was not ready.
When he reached the St. Charles, he fell so very ill
that he had to be carried back to Brother's. Only
his desperate illness saved him from being among the
killed or wounded on that gallant little ship. A few
days after, he learned the fate of the ship, and was
told that Captain Huger was dead. No wonder he

should cry so bitterly! For Captain Huger was as tender
and as kind to him as his own dear father. God bless
him for it! The enemy's ships were sailing up; so he
threw a few articles in a carpet-bag and started off for
Richmond, Corinth, anywhere, to fight. Sick, weak,
hardly able to stand, he went off, two weeks ago
yesterday. We know not where, and we have never
heard from him since. Whether he succumbed to that
jaundice and the rest, and lies dead or dying on the
road, God only knows. We can only wait and pray God
to send dear little Jimmy home in safety.

And this is WAR! Heaven save me from like scenes
and experiences again. I was wild with excitement last
night when Miriam described how the soldiers,
marching to the depot, waved their hats to the crowds
of women and children, shouting, "God bless you,
ladies! We will fight for you!" and they, waving their
handkerchiefs, sobbed with one voice, "God bless you,
Soldiers! Fight for us!"

We, too, have been having our fun. Early in the
evening, four more gunboats sailed up here. We
saw them from the corner, three squares off, crowded
with men even up in the riggings. The American flag
was flying from every peak. It was received in
profound silence, by the hundreds gathered on the
banks. I could hardly refrain from a groan. Much as
I once loved that flag, I hate it now! I came back and
made myself a Confederate flag about five inches
long, slipped the staff in my belt, pinned the flag to my

shoulder, and walked downtown, to the consternation of
women and children, who expected something awful to
follow. An old negro cried, "My young missus got her
flag flyin', anyhow!" Nettie made one and hid it in the
folds of her dress. But we were the only two who
ventured. We went to the State House terrace, and
took a good look at the Brooklyn which was crowded
with people who took a good look at us, likewise. The
picket stationed at the Garrison took alarm at half a
dozen men on horseback and ran, saying that the citizens
were attacking. The kind officers aboard the ship sent us
word that if they were molested, the town would be
shelled. Let them! Butchers! Does it take thirty thousand
men and millions of dollars to murder defenseless women
and children? O the great nation! Bravo!

May 11th.

I - I am disgusted with
myself. No unusual thing, but I
am peculiarly disgusted this time. Last evening, I went
to Mrs. Brunot's, without an idea of going beyond, with
my flag flying again. They were all going to the State
House, so I went with them; to my great distress, some
fifteen or twenty Federal officers were standing on the
first terrace, stared at like wild beasts by the curious
crowd. I had not expected to meet them, and felt a
painful conviction that I was unnecessarily attracting
attention, by an unladylike display of defiance, from
the crowd gathered there. But what was I to do? I felt

humiliated, conspicuous, everything that is painful and
disagreeable; but - strike my colors in the face of the
enemy? Never! Nettie and Sophie had them, too, but
that was no consolation for the shame I suffered by
such a display so totally distasteful to me. How I wished
myself away, and chafed at my folly, and hated myself
for being there, and every one for seeing me. I hope it
will be a lesson to me always to remember a lady can
gain nothing by such display.

I was not ashamed of the flag of my country, - I
proved that by never attempting to remove it in spite of
my mortification, - but I was ashamed of my position;
for these are evidently gentlemen, not the Billy Wilson's
crew we were threatened with. Fine, noble-looking men
they were, showing refinement and gentlemanly bearing
in every motion. One cannot help but admire such foes!
They set us an example worthy of our imitation, and one
we would be benefited by following. They come as
visitors without either pretensions to superiority, or the
insolence of conquerors; they walk quietly their way,
offering no annoyance to the citizens, though they
themselves are stared at most unmercifully, and
pursued by crowds of ragged little boys, while even
men gape at them with open mouths. They prove
themselves gentlemen, while many of our citizens
have proved themselves boors, and I admire them
for their conduct. With a conviction that I had
allowed myself to be influenced by bigoted, narrow

minded people, in believing them to be unworthy of
respect or regard, I came home wonderfully changed in
all my newly acquired sentiments, resolved never more
to wound their feelings, who were so careful of ours, by
such unnecessary display. And I hung my flag on the
parlor mantel, there to wave, if it will, in the shades of
private life; but to make a show, make me conspicuous
and ill at ease, as I was yesterday, - never again !

There was a dozen officers in church this morning,
and the psalms for the 11th day seemed so singularly
appropriate to the feelings of the people, that I felt
uncomfortable for them. They answered with us,
though.

May 14th.

I am beginning to believe
that we are even of more
importance in Baton Rouge than we thought we were. It
is laughable to hear the things a certain set of people,
who know they can't visit us, say about the whole
family. . . . When father was alive, they dared not talk
about us aloud, beyond calling us the "Proud Morgans"
and the "Aristocracy of Baton Rouge" . . . But now
father is gone, the people imagine we are public
property, to be criticized, vilified, and abused to their
hearts' content . . . .

And now, because they find absurdities don't
succeed, they try improbabilities. So yesterday the
town was in a ferment because it was reported the
Federal officers had called on the Miss Morgans, and

all the gentlemen were anxious to hear how they had
been received. One had the grace to say, "If they did,
they received the best lesson there that they could get in
town; those young ladies would meet them with the true
Southern spirit." The rest did not know; they would like
to find out.

I suppose the story originated from the fact that we
were unwilling to blackguard - yes, that is the
word - the Federal officers here, and would not agree
with many of our friends in saying they were liars,
thieves, murderers, scoundrels, the scum of the earth,
etc. Such epithets are unworthy of ladies, I say, and do
harm, rather than advance our cause. Let them be what
they will, it shall not make me less the lady; I say it is
unworthy of anything except low newspaper war, such
abuse, and I will not join in.

I have a brother-in-law in the Federal army whom I
love and respect as much as any one in the world, and
shall not readily agree that his being a Northerner would
give him an irresistible desire to pick my pockets, and
take from him all power of telling the truth. No! There
are few men I admire more than Major Drum, and I
honor him for his independence in doing what he
believes right. Let us have liberty of speech and action
in our land, I say, but not gross abuse and calumny.
Shall I acknowledge that the people we so recently
called our brothers are unworthy of consideration, and
are liars, cowards, dogs? Not I! If they conquer us, I

acknowledge them as a superior race; I will not say that
we were conquered by cowards, for where would that
place us? It will take a brave people to gain us, and that
the Northerners undoubtedly are. I would scorn to have
an inferior foe; I fight only my equals. These women may
acknowledge that cowards have won battles in which
their brothers were engaged, but I, I will ever say mine
fought against brave men, and won the day. Which is
most honorable?

I was never a Secessionist, for I quietly adopted
father's views on political subjects without meddling
with them. But even father went over with his State,
and when so many outrages were committed by the
fanatical leaders of the North, though he regretted the
Union, said, "Fight to the death for our liberty." I say so,
too. I want to fight until we win the cause so many have
died for. I don't believe in Secession, but I do in Liberty.
I want the South to conquer, dictate its own terms, and
go back to the Union, for I believe that, apart, inevitable
ruin awaits both. It is a rope of sand, this Confederacy,
founded on the doctrine of Secession, and will not last
many years - not five. The North Cannot subdue
us.
We are too determined to be free. They have no right
to confiscate our property to pay debts they themselves
have incurred. Death as a nation, rather than Union
on such terms. We will have our rights secured on
so firm a basis that it can never be shaken. If by
power of overwhelming numbers they conquer us,
it will be a barren victory over a desolate land.

We, the natives of this loved soil, will be beggars in a
foreign land; we will not submit to despotism under the
garb of Liberty. The North will find herself burdened
with an unparalleled debt, with nothing to show for it
except deserted towns, burning homes, a standing army
which will govern with no small caprice, and an
impoverished land.

If that be treason, make the best of it!

May 17th.

One of these days, when
peace is restored and we
are quietly settled in our allotted corners of this wide
world without any particularly exciting event to alarm
us; and with the knowledge of what is now the future,
and will then be the dead past; seeing that all has been
for the best for us in the end; that all has come right in
spite of us, we will wonder how we could ever have
been foolish enough to await each hour in such
breathless anxiety. We will ask ourselves if it was really
true that nightly, as we lay down to sleep, we did not
dare plan for the morning, feeling that we might be
homeless and beggars before the dawn. How unreal it
will then seem! We will say it was our wild imagination,
perhaps. But how bitterly, horribly true it is now!

Four days ago the Yankees left us, to attack
Vicksburg, leaving their flag flying in the
Garrison without a man to guard it, and with the
understanding that the town would be held responsible
for it. It was intended for a trap; and it succeeded. For

Now, unless Will will have the kindness to sink a
dozen of their ships up there, - I hear he has command
of the lower batteries, - they will be back in a few days,
and will execute their threat of shelling the town. If they
do, what will become of us? All we expect in the way of
earthly property is as yet mere paper, which will be so
much trash if the South is ruined, as it consists of debts
due father by many planters for professional services
rendered, who, of course, will be ruined, too, so all
money is gone. That is nothing, we will not be ashamed
to earn our bread, so let it go.

But this house is at least a shelter from the weather,
all sentiment apart. And our servants, too; how could
they manage without us? The Yankees, on the river,
and a band of guerrillas in the woods, are equally
anxious to precipitate a fight. Between the two fires,
what chance for us? It would take only a little while to
burn the city over our heads. They say the women and
children must be removed, these guerrillas. Where,
please? Charlie says we must go to Greenwell. And
have this house pillaged? For Butler has decreed that
no unoccupied house shall be respected. If we stay
through the battle, if the Federals are victorious, we will
suffer. For the officers here were reported to have said,
"If the people here did not treat them decently, they
would know what it was when Billy Wilson's crew arrived.

They would give them a lesson!" That select crowd is
now in New Orleans. Heaven help us when they reach
here! It is in these small cities that the greatest
outrages are perpetrated. What are we to do?

A new proclamation from Butler has just come. It
seems that the ladies have an ugly way of gathering
their skirts when the Federals pass, to avoid any
possible contact. Some even turn up their noses.
Unladylike, to say the least. But it is, maybe, owing to
the odor they have, which is said to be unbearable
even at this early season of the year. Butler says,
whereas the so-called ladies of New Orleans insult his
men and officers, he gives one and all permission to
insult any or all who so treat them, then and
there, with the assurance that the women will not
receive the slightest protection from the Government,
and that the men will all be justified. I did not
have time to read it, but repeat it as it was told to
me by mother, who is in utter despair at the brutality
of the thing. These men our brothers? Not mine!
Let us hope for the honor of their nation that Butler
is not counted among the gentlemen of the land.
And so, if any man should fancy he cared to kiss me,
he could do so under the pretext that I had pulled
my dress from under his feet! That will justify
them! And if we decline their visits, they can insult
us under the plea of a prior affront. Oh! Gibbes!
George! Jimmy! never did we need your protection
as sorely as now. And not to know even whether
you are alive! When Charlie joins the army, we will

be defenseless, indeed. Come to my bosom, O my
discarded carving-knife, laid aside under the impression
that these men were gentlemen. We will be close friends
once more. And if you must have a sheath, perhaps I
may find one for you in the heart of the first man who
attempts to Butlerize me. I never dreamed of kissing any
man save my father and brothers. And why any one
should care to kiss any one else, I fail to understand.
And I do not propose to learn to make exceptions.

Still no word from the boys. We hear that Norfolk
has been evacuated; but no details. George was there.
Gibbes is wherever Johnston is, presumably on the
Rappahannock; but it is more than six weeks since we
have heard from either of them, and all communication is
cut off.

May 21st.

I have had such a search
for shoes this week that I
am disgusted with shopping. I am triumphant now, for
after traversing the town in every direction and finding
nothing, I finally discovered a pair of boots just made
for a little negro to go fishing with, and only an inch and
a half too long for me, besides being unbendable; but I
seized them with avidity, and the little negro would have
been outbid if I had not soon after discovered a pair
more seemly, if not more serviceable, which I took
without further difficulty. Behold my tender feet cased in
crocodile skin, patent-leather tipped, low-quarter boy's
shoes, No. 2! "What a fall was there, my country," from

my pretty English glove-kid, to sabots made of some
animal closely connected with the hippopotamus! A
dernier ressort, vraiment! for my choice was that, or
cooling my feet on the burning pavement au naturel; I
who have such a terror of any one seeing my naked
foot! And this is thanks to war and blockade! Not a
decent shoe in the whole community! N'importe!
"Better days are coming, we'll all" - have shoes - after
a while - perhaps! Why did not Mark Tapley leave me
a song calculated to keep the spirits up, under
depressing circumstances? I need one very much, and
have nothing more suggestive than the old Methodist
hymn, "Better days are coming, we'll all go right," which
I shout so constantly, as our prospects darken, that it
begins to sound stale.

May 27th.

The cry is "Ho! for
Greenwell!" Very probably this
day week will see us there. I don't want to go. If we
were at peace, and were to spend a few months of
the warmest season out there, none would be more
eager and delighted than I: but to leave our comfortable
home, and all it contains, for a rough pine cottage
seventeen miles away even from this scanty civilization,
is sad. It must be! We are hourly expecting two
regiments of Yankees to occupy the Garrison, and
some fifteen hundred of our men are awaiting them
a little way off, so the fight seems inevitable. And we
must go, leaving what little has already been spared
us to the tender mercies of Northern volunteers,

who, from the specimen of plundering they gave us
two weeks ago, will hardly leave us even the shelter of
our roof. O my dear Home! How can I help but cry at
leaving you forever? For if this fight occurs, never again
shall I pass the threshold of this house, where we have
been so happy and sad, the scene of joyous meetings and
mournful partings, the place where we greeted each other
with glad shouts after even so short a parting, the place
where Harry and father kissed us good-bye and never
came back again!

I know what Lavinia has suffered this long year, by
what we have suffered these last six weeks. Poor Lavinia,
so far away! How easier poverty, if it must come, would
be if we could bear it together! I wonder if the real fate of
the boys, if we ever hear, can be so dreadful as this
suspense? Still no news of them. My poor little Jimmy!
And think how desperate Gibbes and George will be
when they read Butler's proclamation, and they not able
to defend us! Gibbes was in our late victory of
Fredericksburg, I know.

In other days, going to Greenwell was the signal for
general noise and confusion. All the boys gathered
their guns and fishing-tackle, and thousand and
one amusements; father sent out provisions; we
helped mother pack; Hal and I tumbled over the
libraries to lay in a supply of reading material; and
all was bustle until the carriage drove to the door at
daylight one morning, and swept us off. It is not so
gay this time. I wandered around this morning

selecting books alone. We can only take what is
necessary, the rest being left to the care of the Northern
militia in general. I never knew before how many
articles were perfectly "indispensable" to me. This or
that little token or keepsake, piles of letters I hate to
burn, many dresses, etc., I cannot take conveniently, lie
around me, and I hardly know which to choose among
them, yet half must be sacrificed; I can only take one
trunk.

May 30th, GREENWELL.

After all our trials and
tribulations, here we are at last,
and no limbs lost! How many weeks ago was it since I
wrote here? It seems very long after all these events; let
me try to recall them.

Wednesday the 28th, - a day to be forever
remembered, - as luck would have it, we rose
very early, and had breakfast sooner than usual,
it would seem for the express design of becoming
famished before dinner. I picked up some of my
letters and papers and set them where I could find
them whenever we were ready to go to Greenwell,
burning a pile of trash and leaving a quantity
equally worthless, which were of no value even to
myself except from association. I was packing up
my traveling-desk with all Harry's little articles that
were left to me, and other things, and I was saying
to myself that my affairs were in such confusion that
if obliged to run unexpectedly I would not know what to
save, when I heard Lilly's voice downstairs, crying as she

ran in - she had been out shopping - "Mr. Castle has
killed a Federal officer on a ship, and they are going to
shell -" Bang! went a cannon at the word, and that was
all our warning.

Mother had just come in, and was lying down, but
sprang to her feet and added her screams to the general
confusion. Miriam, who had been searching the libraries,
ran up to quiet her; Lilly gathered her children, crying
hysterically all the time, and ran to the front door with
them as they were; Lucy saved the baby, naked as she
took her from her bath, only throwing a quilt over her. I
bethought me of my "running-bag" which I had used on
a former case, and in a moment my few precious articles
were secured under my hoops, and with a sunbonnet
on, I stood ready for anything.

The firing still continued; they must have fired half
a dozen times before we could coax mother off.
What awful screams! I had hoped never to hear
them again, after Harry died. Charlie had gone to
Greenwell before daybreak, to prepare the house,
so we four women, with all those children and servants,
were left to save ourselves. I did not forget my poor
little Jimmy; I caught up his cage and ran down. Just
at this moment mother recovered enough to insist on
saving father's papers - which was impossible, as
she had not an idea of where the important ones
were. I heard Miriam plead, argue, insist, command
her to run; Lilly shriek, and cry she should go; the
children screaming within; women running by without,

crying and moaning; but I could not join in. I was
going I knew not where; it was impossible to take my
bird, for even if I could carry him, he would starve. So I
took him out of his cage, kissed his little yellow head,
and tossed him up. He gave one feeble little chirp as if
to ascertain where to go, and then for the first and last
time I cried, laying my head against the gate-post, and
with my eyes too dim to see him. Oh, how it hurt me to
lose my little bird, one Jimmy had given me, too!

But the next minute we were all off, in safety. A
square from home, I discovered that boy shoes
were not the most comfortable things to run in, so
I ran back, in spite of cannonading, entreaties, etc.,
to get another pair. I got home, found an old pair that
were by no means respectable, which I seized without
hesitation; and being perfectly at ease, thought it
would be so nice to save at least Miriam's and my
tooth-brushes, so slipped them in my corsets. These
in, of course we must have a comb - that was
added - then how could we stand the sun without
starch to cool our faces? This included the powder-bag;
then I must save that beautiful lace collar; and my hair
was tumbling down, so in went the tuckingcomb and
hair-pins with the rest; until, if there had been any one
to speculate, they would have wondered a long while
at the singular appearance of a girl who is considered
as very slight, usually. By this time, Miriam, alarmed for
me, returned to find me, though urged by Dr. Castleton not

We had hardly gone a square when we decided to
return a second time, and get at least a few articles for
the children and ourselves, who had nothing except
what we happened to have on when the shelling
commenced. She picked up any little things and threw
them to me, while I filled a pillow-case jerked from the
bed, and placed my powder and brushes in it with the
rest. Before we could leave, mother, alarmed for us
both, came to find us, with Tiche.1 All this time they had
been shelling, but there was quite a lull when she got
there, and she commenced picking up father's papers,
vowing all the time she would not leave. Every argument
we could use was of no avail, and we were desperate as
to what course to pursue, when the shelling
recommenced in a few minutes. Then mother
recommenced her screaming and was ready to fly
anywhere; and holding her box of papers, with a faint
idea of saving something, she picked up two dirty
underskirts and an old cloak.

By dint of Miriam's vehement appeals, aided by a
great deal of pulling, we got her down to the back
door. We had given our pillow-case to Tiche, who added
another bundle and all our silver to it, and had already
departed.

As we stood in the door, four or five shells sailed
over our heads at the same time, seeming to make
a perfect corkscrew of the air, - for it sounded as

though it went in circles. Miriam cried, "Never mind the
door!" mother screamed anew, and I stayed behind to
lock the door, with this new music in my ears. We
reached the back gate, that was on the street, when
another shell passed us, and Miriam jumped behind the
fence for protection. We had only gone half a square
when Dr. Castleton begged us to take another street, as
they were firing up that one. We took his advice, but
found our new street worse than the old, for the shells
seemed to whistle their strange songs with redoubled
vigor. The height of my ambition was now attained. I
had heard Jimmy laugh about the singular sensation
produced by the rifled balls spinning around one's head;
and here I heard the same peculiar sound, ran the same
risk, and was equal to the rest of the boys, for was I not
in the midst of flying shells, in the middle of a
bombardment? I think I was rather proud of it.

We were alone on the road, - all had run away
before, - so I thought it was for our especial
entertainment, this little affair. I cannot remember how
long it lasted; I am positive that the clock struck ten
before I left home, but I had been up so long, I know
not what time it began, though I am told it was between
eight and nine. We passed the graveyard, we did not
even stop, and about a mile and a half from home, when
mother was perfectly exhausted with fatigue and unable
to proceed farther, we met a gentleman in a buggy who
kindly took charge of her and our bundles. We could have

walked miles beyond, then, for as soon as she was safe
we felt as though a load had been removed from our
shoulders; and after exhorting her not to be uneasy about
us, and reminding her we had a pistol and a dagger, - I
had secured a "for true" one the day before,
fortunately, - she drove off, and we trudged on alone, the
only people in sight on foot, though occasionally
carriages and buggies would pass, going towards town.
One party of gentlemen put their heads out and one said,
"There are Judge Morgan's daughters sitting by the
road!" - but I observed he did not offer them the slightest
assistance. However, others were very kind. One I never
heard of had volunteered to go for us, and bring us to
mother, when she was uneasy about our staying so long,
when we went home to get clothes. We heard him ring
and knock, but, thinking it must be next door, paid no
attention, so he went back and mother came herself.

We were two miles away when we sat down by the
road to rest, and have a laugh. Here were two women
married, and able to take care of themselves, flying for
their lives and leaving two lorn girls alone on the road, to
protect each other! To be sure, neither could help us,
and one was not able to walk, and the other had helpless
children to save; but it was so funny when we talked
about it, and thought how sorry both would be when they
regained their reason! While we were yet resting, we saw
a cart coming, and, giving up all idea of our walking to

Greenwell, called the people to stop. To our great
delight, it proved to be a cart loaded with Mrs. Brunot's
affairs, driven by two of her negroes, who kindly took
us up with them, on the top of their luggage; and we
drove off in state, as much pleased at riding in that novel
place as though we were accustomed to ride in
wheelbarrows. Miriam was in a hollow between a flour
barrel and a mattress, and I at the end, astride, I am
afraid, of a tremendous bundle, for my face was down
the road and each foot resting very near the sides of the
cart. I tried to make a better arrangement, though, after
a while. These servants were good enough to lend us
their umbrella, without which I am afraid we would have
suffered severely, for the day was intensely warm.

Three miles from town we began to overtake the
fugitives. Hundreds of women and children were
walking along, some bareheaded, and in all costumes.
Little girls of twelve and fourteen were wandering on
alone. I called to one I knew, and asked where her
mother was; she did n't know; she would walk on until
she found out. It seems her mother lost a nursing baby,
too, which was not found until ten that night. White and
black were all mixed together, and were as confidential
as though related. All called to us and asked where we
were going, and many we knew laughed at us for
riding on a cart; but as they had walked only five
miles, I imagined they would like even these poor
accommodations if they were in their reach.

The negroes deserve the greatest praise for their
conduct. Hundreds were walking with babies or
bundles; ask them what they had saved, it was
invariably, "My mistress's clothes, or silver, or baby."
Ask what they had for themselves, it was, "Bless your
heart, honey, I was glad to get away with mistress's
things; I did n't think 'bout mine."

It was a heart-rending scene. Women searching for
their babies along the road, where they had been lost;
others sitting in the dust crying and wringing their hands;
for by this time we had not an idea but what Baton
Rouge was either in ashes, or being plundered, and we
had saved nothing. I had one dress, Miriam two, but
Tiche had them, and we had lost her before we left
home.

Presently we came on a guerrilla camp. Men and
horses were resting on each side of the road, some sick,
some moving about carrying water to the women and
children, and all looking like a monster barbecue, for as
far as the eye could see through the woods, was the
same repetition of men and horses. They would ask for
the news, and one, drunk with excitement or whiskey,
informed us that it was our own fault if we had saved
nothing, the people must have been - fools not to have
known trouble would come before long, and that it was the
fault of the men, who were aware of it, that the women
were thus forced to fly. In vain we pleaded that there was
no warning, no means of foreseeing this; he cried, "You are ruined; so am I; and my brothers, too! And by - there

is nothing left but to die now, and I'll die!" "Good!"
I said. "But die fighting for us!" He waved his
hand, black with powder, and shouted, "That I will!"
after us. That was the only swearing guerrilla we met;
the others seemed to have too much respect for us to
talk loud.

Lucy had met us before this; early in the action, Lilly
had sent her back to get some baby-clothes, but a shell
exploding within a few feet of her, she took alarm, and
ran up another road, for three miles, when she cut
across the plantations and regained the Greenwell
route. It is fortunate that, without consultation, the
thought of running here should have seized us all.

May 31st.

I was interrupted so
frequently yesterday that I know
not how I continued to write so much. First, I was sent
for, to go to Mrs. Brunot, who had just heard of her
son's death, and who was alone with Dena; and some
hours after, I was sent for, to see Fanny, now Mrs.
Trezevant, who had just come with her husband to bring
us news of George. A Mrs. Montgomery, who saw him
every day at Norfolk, said Jimmy was with him, and
though very sick at first, was now in good health. The
first news in all that long time! When the city was evacuated,
George went with his regiment seven miles from Richmond,
Jimmy to the city itself, as aide to Com. Hollins. This
lady brought George's opal ring and diamond pin.
Howell and Mr. Badger, who had just joined the

guerrillas as independents, spent the day with me. We
were all in such confusion that I felt ashamed: every one
as dirty as possible; I had on the same dress I had
escaped in, which, though then perfectly clean, was now
rather - dirty. But they knew what a time we had had.

To return to my journal.

Lucy met mother some long way ahead of us, whose
conscience was already reproaching her for leaving us,
and in answer to her "What has become of my poor
girls?" ran down the road to find us, for Lucy thinks the
world can't keep on moving without us. When she met
us, she walked by the cart, and it was with difficulty we
persuaded her to ride a mile; she said she felt "used" to
walking now. About five miles from home, we overtook
mother. The gentleman had been obliged to go for his
wife, so Mary gave her her seat on the cart, and walked
with Lucy three miles beyond, where we heard that Lilly
and the children had arrived in a cart, early in the day.
All the talk by the roadside was of burning homes,
houses knocked to pieces by balls, famine, murder,
desolation; so I comforted myself singing, "Better days
are coming" and "I hope to die shouting, the Lord will
provide"; while Lucy toiled through the sun and dust,
and answered with a chorus of "I'm a-runnin', a-runnin'
up to glo-ry!"

It was three o'clock when we reached Mr. David's
and found Lilly. How warm and tired we were! A
hasty meal, which tasted like a feast after our

fatigue, gave us fresh strength, and Lilly and Miriam got
in an old cart with the children to drive out here, leaving
me with mother and Dellie to follow next day. About
sunset, Charlie came flying down the road, on his way
to town. I decided to go, and after an obstinate debate
with mother, in which I am afraid I showed more
determination than amiability, I wrung a reluctant
consent from her, and, promising not to enter if it was
being fired or plundered, drove off in triumph. It was a
desperate enterprise for a young girl, to enter a town full
of soldiers on such an expedition at night; but I knew
Charlie could take care of me, and if he was killed I
could take care of myself; so I went.

It was long after nine when we got there, and my first
act was to look around the deserted house. What a
scene of confusion! armoirs spread open, with clothes
tumbled in every direction, inside and out; ribbons,
laces on floors; chairs overturned; my desk wide open
covered with letters, trinkets, etc.; bureau drawers half
out, the bed filled with odds and ends of everything. I
no longer recognized my little room. On the bolster was
a little box, at the sight of which I burst out laughing.
Five minutes before the alarm, Miriam had been
selecting those articles she meant to take to Greenwell,
and, holding up her box, said, "If we were forced to
run for our lives without a moment's warning, I 'd risk
my life to save this, rather than leave it!" Yet here lay
the box, and she was safe at Greenwell!

It took me two hours to pack father's papers, then I
packed Miriam's trunk, then some of mother's and mine,
listening all the while for a cannon; for men were
constantly tramping past the house, and only on
condition our guerrillas did not disturb them had they
promised not to recommence the shelling. Charlie went
out to hear the news, and I packed alone.

It seems the only thing that saved the town was two
gentlemen who rowed out to the ships, and informed the
illustrious commander that there were no men there to be
hurt, and he was only killing women and children. The
answer was, "He was sorry he had hurt them; he thought
of course the town had been evacuated before the men
were fools enough to fire on them, and had only shelled
the principal streets to intimidate the people." These
streets were the very ones crowded with flying women
and children, which they must have seen with their own
eyes, for those lying parallel to the river led to the
Garrison at one end and the crevasse at the other, which
cut off all the lower roads, so that the streets he shelled
were the only ones that the women could follow, unless
they wished to be drowned. As for the firing, four
guerrillas were rash enough to fire on a yawl which was
about to land without a flag of truce, killing one,
wounding three, one of whom afterwards died.

They were the only ones in town, there was not a
cannon in our hands, even if a dozen men could be
collected, and this cannonading was kept up in return

for half a dozen shots from as many rifles, without even
a show of resistance after! So ended the momentous
shelling of Baton Rouge, during which the valiant
Farragut killed one whole woman, wounded three,
struck some twenty houses several times apiece, and
indirectly caused the death of two little children who
were drowned in their flight, one poor little baby that
was born in the woods, and several cases of the same
kind, besides those who will yet die from the fatigue, as
Mrs. W. D. Phillips who had not left her room since
January, who was carried out in her nightgown, and is
now supposed to be in a dying condition. The man who
took mother told us he had taken a dying woman - in
the act of expiring - in his buggy, from her bed, and had
left her a little way off, where she had probably
breathed her last a few moments after. There were
many similar cases. Hurrah for the illustrious Farragut,
the Woman Killer! ! !

It was three o'clock before I left off packing, and
took refuge in a tub of cold water, from the dust
and heat of the morning. What a luxury the water
was! and when I changed my underclothes I felt
like a new being. To be sure I pulled off the skin
of my heel entirely, where it had been blistered by
the walk, dust, sun, etc., but that was a trifle, though
still quite sore now. For three hours I dreamed of rifled
shells and battles, and at half-past six I was up and
at work again. Mother came soon after, and after
hard work we got safely off at three, saving nothing

but our clothes and silver. All else is gone. It cost me a
pang to leave my guitar, and Miriam's piano, but it
seems there was no help for it, so I had to submit.

It was dark night when we reached here. A bright fire
was blazing in front, but the house looked so desolate
that I wanted to cry. Miriam cried when I told her her
piano was left behind. Supper was a new sensation, after
having been without anything except a glass of clabber
(no saucers) and a piece of bread since half-past six. I
laid down on the hard floor to rest my weary bones,
thankful that I was so fortunate as to be able to lie down
at all. In my dozing state, I heard the wagon come, and
Miriam ordering a mattress to be put in the room for me.
I could make out, "Very well! you may take that one to
Miss Eliza, 1 but the
next one shall be brought to Miss
Sarah!" Poor Miriam! She is always fighting my battles.
She and the servants are always taking my part against
the rest of the world. . . . She and Lucy made a bed and
rolled me in it with no more questions, and left me with
damp eyes at the thought of how good and tender every
one is to me. Poor Lucy picked me a dish of blackberries
to await my arrival, and I was just as grateful for it,
though they were eaten by some one else before I came.

Early yesterday morning, Miriam, Nettie, and
Sophie, who did not then know of their brother's
death, went to town in a cart, determined to save

some things, Miriam to save her piano. As soon as they
were halfway, news reached us that any one was
allowed to enter, but none allowed to leave the town,
and all vehicles confiscated as soon as they reached
there. Alarmed for their safety, mother started off to find
them, and we have heard of none of them since. What
will happen next? I am not uneasy. They dare not harm
them. It is glorious to shell a town full of women, but to
kill four lone ones is not exciting enough.

June 1st, Sunday.

From the news brought by
one or two persons who
managed to reach here yesterday, I am more uneasy
about mother and the girls. A gentleman tells me that no
one is permitted to leave without a pass, and of these,
only such as are separated from their families, who may
have left before. All families are prohibited to leave, and
furniture and other valuables also. Here is an agreeable
arrangement! I saw the "pass," just such as we give our
negroes, signed by a Wisconsin colonel. Think of being
obliged to ask permission from some low plowman to
go in or out of our own house! Cannon are planted as
far out as Colonel Davidson's, six of them at our
graveyard, and one or more on all the other roads. If the
guerrillas do not attempt their capture, I shall take it
upon myself to suggest it to the very next one I see.
Even if they cannot use them, it will frighten the
Yankees, who are in a state of constant alarm
about them. Their reason for keeping people in

town is that they hope they will not be attacked so long
as our own friends remain; thereby placing us above
themselves in the scale of humanity, since they
acknowledge we are not brute enough to kill women
and children as they did not hesitate to do.

Farragut pleads that he could not restrain his men,
they were so enraged when the order was once given to
fire, and says they would strike a few houses, though he
ordered them to fire solely at horses, and the clouds of
dust in the street, where guerrillas were supposed to be.
The dust was by no means thick enough to conceal that
these "guerrillas" were women, carrying babies instead
of guns, and the horses were drawing buggies in which
many a sick woman was lying.

A young lady who applied to the Yankee general for
a pass to come out here, having doubtless spoken
of the number of women here who had fled, and the
position of the place, was advised to remain in town
and write to the ladies to return immediately, and
assure them that they would be respected and protected,
etc., but that it was madness to remain at Greenwell,
for a terrific battle would be fought there in a few days,
and they would be exposed to the greatest danger. The
girl wrote the letter, but, Mr. Fox, we are not quite such
fools as to return there to afford you the protection our
petticoats would secure to you, thereby preventing you
from receiving condign punishment for the injuries and
loss of property already inflicted upon us by you. No! we

remain here; and if you are not laid low before you
pass the Comite Bridge, we can take to the woods
again, and camp out, as many a poor woman is doing
now, a few miles from town. Many citizens have been
arrested, and after being confined a while, and closely
questioned, have been released, if the information is
satisfactory. A negro man is informing on all cotton
burners and violent Secessionists, etc.

Sunday night.

The girls have just got
back, riding in a mule team, on
top of baggage, but without either mother or any of our
affairs. Our condition is perfectly desperate. Miriam had
an interview with General Williams, which was by no
means satisfactory. He gave her a pass to leave, and
bring us back, for he says there is no safety here for us;
he will restrain his men in town, and protect the women,
but once outside, he will answer neither for his men, nor
the women and children. As soon as he gets horses enough,
he passes this road, going to Camp Moore with his cavalry,
and then we are in greater danger than ever. Any house
shut up shall be occupied by soldiers. Five thousand are
there now, five more expected. What shall we do?
Mother remained, sending Miriam for me, determined
to keep us there, rather than sacrifice both our lives
and property by remaining here. But then - two weeks
from now the yellow fever will break out; mother has the
greatest horror of it, and we have never had it; dying

is not much in the present state of our affairs, but the
survivor will suffer even more than we do now. If we
stay, how shall we live? I have seventeen hundred
dollars in Confederate notes now in my "running-bag,"
and three or four in silver. The former will not be
received there, the latter might last two days. If we save
our house and furniture, it is at the price of starving. I am
of opinion that we should send for mother, and with
what money we have, make our way somewhere in the
interior, to some city where we can communicate with
the boys, and be advised by them. This is not living.
Home is lost beyond all hope of recovery; if we wait,
what we have already saved will go, too; so we had
better leave at once, with what clothing we have, which
will certainly establish us on the footing of ladies, if we
chance to fall among vulgar people who never look
beyond. I fear the guerrillas will attack the town to-night;
if they do, God help mother!

General Williams offered Miriam an escort when he
found she was without a protector, in the most fatherly way;
he must be a good man. She thanked him, but said "she
felt perfectly safe on that road." He bit his lip, understanding
the allusion, and did not insist. She was to deliver a
message from parties in town to the first guerrillas they
met, concerning the safest roads, and presently six met
them, and entered into conversation. She told them of
the proffered escort, when one sprang forward crying,
"Why did n't you accept, Miss? The next time, ask for

one, and if it is at all disagreeable to you, I am the very
man to rid you of such an inconvenience! I'll see that
you are not annoyed long." I am glad it was not sent;
she would have reproached herself with murder forever
after. I wonder if the General would have risked it?

BATON ROUGE, June 3d.

Well! Day before
yesterday, I almost vowed I would
not return, and last evening I reached here. Verily,
consistency, thou art a jewel! I determined to get to
town to lay both sides of the question before mother;
saving home and property, by remaining, thereby cutting
ourselves off forever from the boys and dying of yellow
fever; or flying to Mississippi, losing all save our lives.
So as Mrs. Brunot was panic-stricken and determined
to die in town rather than be starved at Greenwell, and
was going in on the same wagon that came out the night
before, I got up with her and Nettie, and left Greenwell
at ten yesterday morning, bringing nothing except this old
book, which I would rather not lose, as it has been an
old and kind friend during these days of trouble. At first,
I avoided all mention of political affairs, but now there is
nothing else to be thought of; if it is not burnt for treason,
I will like to look it over some day - if I live. I left Greenwell,
without ever looking around it, beyond one walk to the
hotel, so I may say I hardly know what it looks like. Miriam
stayed, much against her will, I fear, to bring in our trunks,
if I could send a wagon.

A guerrilla picket stopped us before we had gone a
mile, and seemed disposed to turn us back. We said we
must pass; our all was at stake. They then entreated us
not to enter, saying it was not safe. I asked if they
meant to burn it; "We will help try it," was the answer. I
begged them to delay the experiment until we could get
away. One waved his hat to me and said he would fight
for me. Hope he will - at a distance. They asked if we
had no protectors; "None," we said. "Don't go, then";
and they all looked so sorry for us. We said we must;
starvation, and another panic awaited us out there, our
brothers were fighting, our fathers dead; we had only our
own judgment to rely on, and that told us home was the
best place for us; if the town must burn, let us burn in our
houses, rather than be murdered in the woods. They
looked still more sorry, but still begged us not to remain.
We would, though, and one young boy called out as we
drove off, "What's the name of that young lady who
refused the escort?" I told him, and they too expressed
the greatest regret that she had not accepted. We met
many on the road, nearly all of whom talked to us, and
as they were most respectful in their manner (though they
saw us in a mule team!), we gave them all the information
we could, which was all news to them, though very little.
Such a ride in the hot sun, perched up in the air! One of the
servants remarked, "Miss Sarah ain't ashamed to ride in a
wagon!" With truth I replied, "No, I was never so high before."

Two miles from home we met the first Federal pickets,
and then they grew more numerous, until we came on a
large camp near our graveyard, filled with soldiers and
cannon. From first to last none refrained from laughing at
us; not aloud, but they would grin and be inwardly
convulsed with laughter as we passed. One laughed so
comically that I dropped my veil hastily for fear he would
see me smile. I could not help it; if any one smiled at me
while I was dying, I believe I would return it. We passed
crowds, for it was now five o'clock, and all seemed to
be promenading. There were several officers standing at
the corner, near our house, who were very much amused
at our vehicle. I did not feel like smiling then. After
reducing us to riding in a mule team, they were heartless
enough to laugh! I forgot them presently, and gave my
whole attention to getting out respectably. Now getting
in a wagon is bad enough; but getting out -! I hardly
know how I managed it. I had fully three feet to step
down before reaching the wheel; once there, the
driver picked me up and set me on the pavement.
The net I had gathered my hair in, fell in my descent,
and my hair swept down halfway between my knee
and ankle in one stream. As I turned to get my little
bundle, the officers had moved their position to one
directly opposite to me, where they could examine me
at leisure. Queens used to ride drawn by oxen hundreds
of years ago, so I played this was old times, the
mules were oxen, I a queen, and stalked off in a

style I am satisfied would have imposed on Juno herself.
When I saw them as I turned, they were perfectly quiet;
but Nettie says up to that moment they had been in
convulsions of laughter, with their handkerchiefs to their
faces. It was not polite!

I found mother safe, but the house was in the most
horrible confusion. Jimmy's empty cage stood by the
door; it had the same effect on me that empty coffins
produce on others. Oh, my birdie! At six, I could no
longer stand my hunger. I had fasted for twelve hours,
with the exception of a mouthful of hoecake at eleven;
I that never fasted in my life! - except last Ash
Wednesday when Lydia and I tried it for breakfast, and
got so sick we were glad to atone for it at dinner. So I
got a little piece of bread and corn beef from Mrs.
Daigre's servant, for there was not a morsel here, and I
did not know where or what to buy. Presently some kind
friend sent me a great short-cake, a dish of strawberry
preserves, and some butter, which I was grateful for, for
the fact that the old negro was giving me part of her
supper made me rather sparing, though she cried, "Eat it
all honey! I get plenty more!"

Mother went to Cousin Will's, and I went to Mrs.
Brunot's to sleep, and so ended my first day's ride on a
mule team. Bah! A lady can make anything respectable
by the way she does it! What do I care if I had been
driving mules? Better that than walk seventeen miles.

this morning. They were as kind to me as they were to
the girls the other day. The latter saved them a
disagreeable visit, while here. He and those three were
packing some things in the hall, when two officers
passed, and prepared to come in, seeing three
good-looking girls seemingly alone, for Miriam's dress
hid Dr. Castleton as he leaned over the box. Just then she
moved, the Doctor raised his head, and the officers
started back with an "Ah!" of surprise. The Doctor
called them as they turned away, and asked for a pass
for the young ladies. They came back bowing and
smiling, said they would write one in the house, but
they were told very dryly that there were no writing
accommodations there. They tried the fascinating, and
were much mortified by the coldness they met. Dear
me! "Why was n't I born old and ugly?" Suppose I
should unconsciously entrap some magnificent Yankee!
What an awful thing it would be!

Sentinels are stationed at every corner; Dr. Castleton
piloted me safely through one expedition; but on the
next, we had to part company, and I passed through a
crowd of at least fifty, alone. They were playing cards in
the ditch, and swearing dreadfully, these pious
Yankees; many were marching up and down, some
sleeping on the pavement, others - picking odious bugs
out of each other's heads! I thought of the guerrillas,
yellow fever, and all, and wished they were all safe at
home with their mothers and sisters, and we at peace
again.

What a day I have had! Here mother and I are alone,
not a servant on the lot. We will sleep here to-night, and
I know she will be too nervous to let me sleep. The dirt
and confusion were extraordinary in the house. I could
not stand it, so I applied myself to making it better. I
actually swept two whole rooms! I ruined my hands at
gardening, so it made no difference. I replaced piles of
books, crockery, china, that Miriam had left packed for
Greenwell; I discovered I could empty a dirty hearth,
dust, move heavy weights, make myself generally useful
and dirty, and all this is thanks to the Yankees! Poor
me! This time last year I thought I would never walk
again! If I am not laid up forever after the fatigue of this
last week, I shall always maintain I have a Constitution.
But it all seems nothing in this confusion; everything is
almost as bad as ever. Besides that, I have been flying
around to get Miriam a wagon. I know she is half
distracted at being there alone. Mother chose staying
with all its evils. Charlie's life would pay the penalty of a
cotton burner if he returned, so Lilly remains at
Greenwell with him. We three will get on as best we can
here. I wrote to the country to get a wagon, sent a pass
from Headquarters, but I will never know if it reached
her until I see her in town. I hope it will; I would be
better satisfied with Miriam.

June 4th.

Miriam and Mattie drove
in, in the little buggy,
last evening after sunset, to find out what we

were to do. Our condition is desperate. Beauregard
is about attacking these Federals. They say he is
coming from Corinth, and the fight will be in town.
If true, we are lost again. Starvation at Greenwell,
fever and bullets here, will put an end to us soon
enough. There is no refuge for us, no one to consult.
Brother, whose judgment we rely on as implicitly as
we did on father's, we hear has gone to New York;
there is no one to advise or direct us, for, if he is gone,
there is no man in Louisiana whose decision I would
blindly abide by. Let us stay and die. We can only die
once; we can suffer a thousand deaths with suspense
and uncertainty; the shortest is the best. Do you
think the few words here can give an idea of our
agony and despair? Nothing can express it. I feel a
thousand years old to-day. I have shed the bitterest
tears to-day that I have shed since father died. I can't
stand it much longer; I'll give way presently, and I
know my heart will break. Shame! Where is God? A fig
for your religion, if it only lasts while the sun shines!
"Better days are coming" - I can't!

Troops are constantly passing and repassing. They
have scoured the country for ten miles out, in search
of guerrillas. We are here without servants, clothing,
or the bare necessaries of life: suppose they should
seize them on the way! I procured a pass for the
wagon, but it now seems doubtful if I can get
the latter - a very faint chance. Well! let them go;
our home next; then we can die sure enough. With

Page 64

God's help, I can stand anything yet in store for me.
"I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide!"
Poor Lavinia! if she could only see us! I am glad she
does not know our condition.

5 P.M.

What a day of agony,
doubt, uncertainty, and
despair! Heaven save me from another such! Every
hour fresh difficulties arose, until I believe we were
almost crazy, every one of us.

As Miriam was about stepping in the buggy, to go to
Greenwell to bring in our trunks, mother's heart misgave
her, and she decided to sacrifice her properly rather than
remain in this state any longer. After a desperate discussion
which proved that each argument was death, she decided
to go back to Greenwell and give up the keys of the
house to General Williams, and let him do as he pleased,
rather than have it broken open during her absence. Mattie
and Mr. Tunnard were present at the discussion, which
ended by the latter stepping in the buggy and driving
Miriam to the Garrison. General Williams called her by
name, and asked her about Major Drum. It seems all these
people, native and foreign, know us, while we know none.
Miriam told him our condition, how our brothers were
away, father dead, and mother afraid to remain, yet
unwilling to lose her property by going away; how we
three were alone and unprotected here, but would remain
rather than have our home confiscated. He assured her the
house should not be touched, that it would be respected

in our absence as though we were in it, and he would
place a sentinel at the door to guard it against his own
men who might be disposed to enter. The latter she
declined, but he said he would send his aide to mark the
house, that it might be known. A moment after they got
back, the aide, Mr. Biddle (I have his name to so many
passes that I know it now), came to the door. Mr.
Tunnard left him there, uncertain how we would receive
a Christian, and I went out and asked him in. He looked
uncertain of his reception, too, when we put an end to
his doubt by treating him as we invariably treat
gentlemen who appear such. He behaved remarkably
well under the trying circumstances, and insisted on a
sentinel; for, he said, though they would respect the
property, there were many bad characters among the
soldiers who might attempt to rob it, and the sentinel
would protect it. After a visit of ten minutes, devoted
exclusively to the affair, he arose and took his leave,
leaving me under the impression that he was a
gentleman wherever he came from, even if there were a
few grammatical errors in the pass he wrote me
yesterday; but "thou that judgest another, dost thou sin?"

Well, now we say, fly to Greenwell. Yes! and by tonight,
a most exaggerated account of the whole affair
will be spread over the whole country, and we will be
equally suspected by our own people. Those who
spread useless falsehoods about us will gladly have a
foundation for a monstrous one. Did n't

Camp Moore ring with the story of our entertaining the
Federal officers? did n't they spread the report that
Miriam danced with one to the tune of "Yankee Doodle"
in the State House garden? What will they stop at
now? O! if I was only a man, and knew what to do!

Night.

We were so distressed by
the false position in which
we would be placed by a Federal sentinel, that we did
not know what course to pursue. As all our friends
shook their heads and said it was dangerous, we knew
full well what our enemies would say. If we win Baton
Rouge, as I pray we will, they will say we asked
protection from Yankees against our own men, are
consequently traitors, and our property will be
confiscated by our own Government. To decline
General Williams's kind offer exposes the house to being
plundered. In our dilemma, we made up our minds to
stay, so we could say the sentinel was unnecessary.

Presently a file of six soldiers marched to the gate, an
officer came to the steps and introduced himself as
Colonel McMillan, of 21st Indiana Volunteers. He asked
if this was Mrs. Morgan's; the General had ordered a
guard placed around the house; he would suggest placing
them in different parts of the yard. "Madam, the pickets await
your orders." Miriam in a desperate fright undertook to
speak for mother, and asked if he thought there was any
necessity. No, but it was an additional security, he said.

"Then, if no actual necessity, we will relieve you of the
disagreeable duty, as we expect to remain in town," she
said. He was very kind, and discussed the whole affair
with us, saying when we made up our minds to leave, -
we told him after we could not decide, - to write him
word, and he would place a guard around to prevent his
men and the negroes from breaking in. It was a singular
situation: our brothers off fighting them, while these
Federal officers leaned over our fence, and an officer
standing on our steps offered to protect us. These
people are certainly very kind to us. General Williams
especially must be a dear old gentleman; he is so good.

How many good, and how many mean people these
troubles have shown us! I am beginning to see my true
friends, now; there is a large number of them, too.
Everybody from whom we least expected attention has
agreeably surprised us. . . .

General Williams will believe we are insane from
our changing so often.

His guard positively refused.

June 5th.

Last night I determined
to stay. Miriam went after our
trunks at daylight. A few hours after, Lilly wrote we must
go back. McClellan's army was cut to pieces and driven
back to Maryland, by Jackson; the Federals were being
driven into the swamp from Richmond, too. Beauregard
is undoubtedly coming to attack Baton Rouge; his fire
would burn the town, if the gunboats do not; the

Yankees will shell, at all events, if forced to retire. It
cannot stand. We can't go to New Orleans. Butler says
he will lay it in ashes if he is forced to evacuate it, from
yellow fever or other causes. Both must be burned.
Greenwell is not worth the powder it would cost, so we
must stand the chance of murder and starvation there,
rather than the certainty of being placed between two
fires here. Well, I see nothing but bloodshed and
beggary staring us in the face. Let it come. "I hope to die
shouting, the Lord will provide."

June 6th.

We dined at Mrs. Brunot's
yesterday, and sitting on the
gallery later, had the full benefit of a Yankee drill. They
stopped in front of the house and went through some
very curious manoeuvres, and then marched out to their
drill-ground beyond. In returning, the whole regiment drew
up directly before us, and we were dreadfully quiet for five
minutes, the most uncomfortable I have experienced for
some time. For it was absurd to look at the sky, and I
looked in vain for one man with downcast eyes whereon
I might rest mine; but from the officers down to the last
private, they were all looking at us. I believe I would have
cried with embarrassment if the command had not been
given at that moment. They drilled splendidly, and knew it,
too, so went through it as though they had not been at it
for an hour before. One conceited, red-headed lieutenant
smiled at us in the most fascinating way; perhaps he

smiled to think how fine he was, and what an impression
he was making.

We got back to our solitary house before twilight, and
were sitting on the balcony, when Mr. Biddle entered. He
came to ask if the guard had been placed here last night.
It seems to me it would have saved him such a long walk
if he had asked Colonel McMillan. He sat down, though,
and got talking in the moonlight, and people passing,
some citizens, some officers, looked wonderingly at this
unheard-of occurrence. I won't be rude to any one in my
own house, Yankee or Southern, say what they will. He
talked a great deal, and was very entertaining; what
tempted him, I cannot imagine. It was two hours before
he thought of leaving. He was certainly very kind. He
spoke of the scarcity of flour in town; said they had
quantities at the Garrison, and asked permission to send
us a barrel, which of course we refused. It showed a very
good heart, though. He offered to take charge of any
letters I would write; said he had heard General Williams
speak of Harry; and when he at last left, I was still more
pleased with him for this kindness to us. He says Captain
Huger is dead. I am very, very much distressed. They
are related, he says. He talked so reasonably of the
war, that it was quite a novelty after reading the abusive
newspapers of both sides. I like him, and was sorry I
could not ask him to repeat his visit. We are unaccustomed
to treat gentlemen that way; but it won't do in the present
state to act as we please. Mob governs.

Mother kept me awake all night to listen to the mice
in the garret. Every time I would doze she would ask,
"What's that?" and insist that the mice were men. I had
to get up and look for an imaginary host, so I am tired
enough this morning.

Miriam has just got in with all the servants, our
baggage is on the way, so we will be obliged to stay
whether we will or no. I don't care; it is all the same
starve or burn. Oh! I forgot. Mr. Biddle did not write
that pass! It was his clerk. He speaks very
grammatically, so far as I can judge! !

June 8th, Sunday.

These people mean to kill
us with kindness. There is
such a thing as being too kind. Yesterday General Williams
sent a barrel of flour to mother accompanied by a note
begging her to accept it "in consideration of the present
condition of the circulating currency," and the intention
was so kind, the way it was done so delicate, that there
was no refusing it. I had to write her thanks, and got in a
violent fit of the "trembles" at the idea of writing to a
stranger. One consolation is, that I am not a very big fool,
for it took only three lines to prove myself one. If I had been
a thundering big one, I would have occupied two pages to
show myself fully. And to think it is out of our power to
prove them our appreciation of the kindness we have
universally met with! Many officers were in church this
morning and as they passed us while we waited for the door

to be opened, General Williams bowed profoundly,
another followed his example; we returned the salute, of
course. But by to-morrow, those he did not bow to will
cry treason against us. Let them howl. I am tired of lies,
scandal, and deceit. All the loudest gossips have been
frightened into the country, but enough remain to keep
them well supplied with town talk. . . . It is such a
consolation to turn to the dear good people of the world
after coming in contact with such cattle. Here, for
instance, is Mr. Bonnecase on whom we have not the
slightest claims. Every day since we have been here, he
has sent a great pitcher of milk, knowing our cow is out;
one day he sent rice, the next sardines, yesterday two
bottles of Port and Madeira, which cannot be purchased
in the whole South. What a duck of an old man! That is
only one instance.

June 10th.

This morning while I was
attending to my flowers . . .
several soldiers stopped in front of me, and holding on the
fence, commenced to talk about some brave Colonel,
and a shooting affair last night. When all had gone except
one who was watching me attentively, as he seemed to
wish to tell me, I let him go ahead. The story was that
Colonel McMillan was shot through the shoulder, breast,
and liver, by three guerrillas while four miles from town
last night, on a scout. He was a quarter of a mile from
his own men at the time, killed one who shot him, took
the other two prisoners, and fell from his horse himself,

when he got within the lines. The soldier said these
two guerrillas would probably be hanged, while the six
we saw pass captives, Sunday, would probably be sent
to Fort Jackson for life. I think the guerrilla affair mere
murder, I confess; but what a dreadful fate for these
young men! One who passed Sunday was Jimmy's
schoolmate, a boy of sixteen; another, Willie Garig,
the pet of a whole family of good, honest country
people. . . .

These soldiers will get in the habit of talking to me
after a while, through my own fault. Yesterday I could
not resist the temptation to ask the fate of the six
guerrillas, and stopped two volunteers who were going
by, to ask them. They discussed the fate of the country,
told me Fort Pillow and Vicksburg were evacuated, the
Mississippi opened from source to mouth; I told them of
Banks's and McClellan's defeat; they assured me it
would all be over in a month, - which I fervently prey
may be so; told me they were from Michigan (one was
Mr. Bee, he laid, cousin of our General); and they would
probably have talked all day if I had not bowed myself
away with thanks for their information.

It made me ashamed to contrast the quiet,
gentlemanly, liberal way these volunteers spoke of us
and our cause, with the rabid, fanatical, abusive violence
of our own female Secession declaimers. Thank
heaven, I have never yet made my appearance as a
Billingsgate orator on these occasions. All my violent
feelings, which in moments of intense excitement

were really violent, I have recorded in this book; I am
happy to say only the reasonable dislike to seeing my
country subjugated has been confided to the public ear,
when necessary; and that even now, I confess that
nothing but the reign of terror and gross prejudice by
which I was surrounded at that time could justify many
expressions I have here applied to them. Fact is, these
people have disarmed me by their kindness. I expected
to be in a crowd of ruffian soldiers, who would think
nothing of cutting your throat or doing anything they felt
like; and I find, among all these thousands, not one who
offers the slightest annoyance or disrespect. The former
is the thing as it is believed by the whole country, the
latter the true state of affairs. I admire foes who show so
much consideration for our feelings.

Contrast these with our volunteers from New
Orleans - all gentlemen - who came to take the Garrison
from Major Haskins. Several of them passing our
gate where we were standing with the Brunots, one
exclaimed, "What pretty girls!" It was a stage aside that
we were supposed not to hear. "Yes," said another;
"beautiful! but they look as though they could be fast."
Fast! and we were not even speaking! not even looking
at them! Sophie and I were walking presently, and met
half a dozen. We had to stop to let them pass the
crossing; they did not think of making way for us; No. 1
sighed - such a sigh! No. 2 followed, and so on, when
they all sighed in chorus for our edification, while we

dared not raise our eyes from the ground. That is the
time I would have made use of a dagger. Two passed in
a buggy, and trusting to our not recognizing them from
the rapidity of their vehicle, kissed their hands to us until
they were out of sight! All went back to New Orleans
vowing Baton Rouge had the prettiest girls in the world.
These were our own people, the élite of New Orleans,
loyal Southerners and gentlemen. These Northerners
pass us satisfied with a simple glance; some take off their
hats, for all these officers know our name, though we
may not know theirs; how, I can't say.

When I heard of Colonel McMillan's misfortune,
mother conspired with me to send over some bandages,
and something Tiche manufactured of flour under the
name of "nourishment," for he is across the street at
Heroman's. Miriam objected on account of what "our
people" will say, and what we will suffer for it if the
guerrillas reach town, but we persuaded her we were
right. . . . You can imagine our condition at present,
many years hence, Sarah, when you reflect that it is
the brave, noble-hearted, generous Miriam who is afraid
to do that deed on account of "public opinion," which
indeed is "down" on us. At Greenwell they are frantic
about our returning to town, and call us traitors, Yankees,
and vow vengeance. . . . A lady said to me, "The
guerrillas have a black list containing the names of
those remaining in town. All the men are to be hanged,
their houses burned, and all the women are to be

tarred and feathered." I said, "Madam, if I believed
them capable of such a vile threat, even, much less the
execution, I would see them cut down without a feeling
of compassion" (which is not true), "and swear I was a
Yankee rather than claim being a native of the same
country with such brutes." She has a long tongue; when I
next hear of it, it will be that I told the story, and called
them brutes and hoped they would be shot, etc. And so
goes the world. No one will think of saying that I did not
believe them guilty of the thought, even. Our three
brothers may be sick or wounded at this minute; what I
do for this man, God will send some one to do for them,
and with that belief I do it. . . .

June 11th.

Last evening mother and
Miriam went to the Arsenal
to see if they would be allowed to do anything for the
prisoners. General Williams received them, and
fascinated Miriam by his manner, as usual. Poor Miriam
is always being fascinated, according to her own
account. He sent for little Nathan Castle and Willie
Garig, and left them alone in the room with them,
showing his confidence and delicacy by walking away.
The poor young men were very grateful to be remembered;
one had his eyes too full of tears to speak. Mr. Garig told
Miriam that when the story of her refusing the escort was
told in camp, the woods rang with shouts of "Three cheers
for Miss Morgan!" They said they were treated very

well, and had no want, except clean clothes, and to let
their mothers know they were well and content.

I have been hard at work mending three or four suits
of the boys' clothing for those poor young men. Some
needed thread and needle very much, but it was the best
we could do. So I packed them all up - not forgetting a
row of pins - and sent Tiche off with the bundle,
perched real Congo fashion on her many-colored
head-handkerchief, which was tied in the most superb
Creole style in honor of the occasion.

June 16th, Monday.

My poor old diary comes
to a very abrupt end, to
my great distress. The hardest thing in the world is to
break off journalizing when you are once accustomed
to it, and mine has proved such a resource to me in
these dark days of trouble that I feel as though I were
saying good-bye to an old and tried friend. Thanks to
my liberal supply of pens, ink, and paper, how many
inexpressibly dreary days I have filled up to my own
satisfaction, if not to that of others! How many
disagreeable affairs it has caused me to pass over
without another thought, how many times it has
proved a relief to me where my tongue was forced to
remain quiet! Without the blessed materials, I would
have fallen victim to despair and "the Blues" long since;
but they have kept my eyes fixed on "Better days a-coming"
while slightly alluding to present woes; kept me from making
a fool of myself many a day; acted as lightning rod to my mental

thunder, and have made me happy generally. For all of
which I cry, " Vivent pen, ink, and paper!" and add with
regret, " Adieu, my mental Conductor. I fear this
unchained lightning will strike somewhere, in your
absence!"

BOOK II

"I hope to die shouting, the Lord will provide!"

Monday, June 16th, 1862.

THERE is no use in trying
to break off journalizing,
particularly in "these trying times." It has become a
necessity to me. I believe I should go off in a rapid decline
if Butler took it in his head to prohibit that among other
things. . . . I reserve to myself the privilege of writing my
opinions, since I trouble no one with the expression of
them. . . . I insist, that if the valor and chivalry of our men
cannot save our country, I would rather have it conquered
by a brave race than owe its liberty to the Billingsgate
oratory and demonstrations of some of these "ladies." If
the women have the upper hand then, as they have now, I
would not like to live in a country governed by such tongues.
Do I consider the female who could spit in a gentleman's
face, merely because he wore United States buttons, as a
fit associate for me? Lieutenant Biddle assured me he did
not pass a street in New Orleans without being most
grossly insulted by ladies. It was a friend of his into whose
face a lady spit as he walked quietly by without looking
at her. (Wonder if she did it to attract his attention?) He
had the sense to apply to her husband and give him
two minutes to apologize or die, and of course he

chose the former.1 Such
things are enough to disgust any
one. "Loud" women, what a contempt I have for you!
How I despise your vulgarity!

Some of these Ultra-Secessionists, evidently very
recently from "down East," who think themselves obliged
to "kick up their heels over the Bonny Blue Flag," as
Brother describes female patriotism, shriek out, "What!
see those vile Northerners pass patiently! No true
Southerner could see it without rage. I could kill them! I
hate them with all my soul, the murderers, liars, thieves,
rascals! You are no Southerner if you do not hate them as
much as I!" Ah ça! a true-blue Yankee tell me that I, born
and bred here, am no Southerner! I always think, "It is
well for you, my friend, to save your credit, else you might
be suspected by some people, though your violence is
enough for me." I always say, "You may do as you
please; my brothers are fighting for me, and doing their
duty, so that excess of patriotism is unnecessary for me,
as my position is too well known to make any
demonstrations requisite."

This war has brought out wicked, malignant feelings
that I did not believe could dwell in woman's heart.
I see some of the holiest eyes, so holy one would
think the very spirit of charity lived in them, and all
Christian meekness, go off in a mad tirade of
abuse and say, with the holy eyes wondrously

changed, "I hope God will send down plague, yellow
fever, famine, on these vile Yankees, and that not one will
escape death." O, what unutterable horror that remark
causes me as often as I hear it! I think of the many
mothers, wives, and sisters who wait as anxiously, pray as
fervently in their faraway homes for their dear ones, as we
do here; I fancy them waiting day after day for the
footsteps that will never come, growing more sad, lonely,
and heart-broken as the days wear on; I think of how
awful it would be if one would say, "Your brothers are
dead"; how it would crush all life and happiness out of me;
and I say, "God forgive these poor women! They know
not what they say!" O women! into what loathsome
violence you have abased your holy mission! God will
punish us for our hard-heartedness. Not a square off,
in the new theatre, lie more than a hundred sick soldiers.
What woman has stretched out her hand to save them, to
give them a cup of cold water? Where is the charity which
should ignore nations and creeds, and administer help to
the Indian and Heathen indifferently? Gone! All gone
in a Union versus Secession! That is what the American
War has brought us. If I was independent, if I could work
my own will without causing others to suffer for my deeds, I
would not be poring over this stupid page; I would not be
idly reading or sewing. I would put aside woman's trash, take
up woman's duty, and I would stand by some forsaken man and
bid him Godspeed as he closes his dying eyes. That is

woman's mission! and not Preaching and Politics. I say I
would, yet here I sit! O for liberty! the liberty that dares
do what conscience dictates, and scorns all smaller rules!
If I could help these dying men! Yet it is as impossible as
though I was a chained bear. I can't put out my hand. I
am threatened with Coventry because I sent a custard to
a sick man who is in the army, and with the anathema of
society because I said if I could possibly do anything for
Mr. Biddle - at a distance - (he is sick) I would like to
very much. Charlie thinks we have acted shockingly in
helping Colonel McMillan, and that we will suffer for it
when the Federals leave. I would like to see any man
who dared harm my father's daughter! But as he seems
to think our conduct reflects on him, there is no
alternative. Die, poor men, without a woman's hand to
close your eyes! We women are too patriotic to help
you! I look eagerly on, cry in my soul, "I wish -"; you
die; God judges me. Behold the woman who dares not
risk private ties for God's glory and her professed
religion! Coward, helpless woman that I am! If I was
free -!

June 17th.

Yesterday, and day
before, boats were constantly
arriving and troops embarking from here, destined
for Vicksburg. There will be another fight, and of
course it will fall. I wish Will was out of it; I don't
want him to die. I got the kindest, sweetest letter
from Will when Miriam came from Greenwell. It

was given to her by a guerrilla on the road who asked if
she was not Miss Sarah Morgan.

June 18th.

How long, O how long, is
it since I have lain down in
peace, thinking, "This night I will rest in safety"?
Certainly not since the fall of Fort Jackson. If left to
myself, I would not anticipate evil, but would quietly
await the issue of all these dreadful events; but when I
hear men, who certainly should know better than I,
express their belief that in twenty-four hours the town will
be laid in ashes, I begin to grow uneasy, and think it must
be so, since they say it. These last few days, since the
news arrived of the intervention of the English and
French, I have alternately risen and fallen from the depth
of despair to the height of delight and expectation, as the
probability of another exodus diminishes, and peace
appears more probable. If these men would not
prophesy the burning of the city, I would be perfectly
satisfied. . . .

Well! I packed up a few articles to satisfy my
conscience, since these men insist that another
run is inevitable, though against my own conviction.
I am afraid I was partly influenced by my dream last
night of being shelled out unexpectedly and flying
without saving an article. It was the same dream I
had a night or two before we fled so ingloriously from
Baton Rouge, when I dreamed of meeting Will
Pinckney suddenly, who greeted me in the most
extraordinarily affectionate manner, and told me

that Vicksburg had fallen. He said he had been
chiefly to blame, and the Southerners were so incensed
at his losing, the Northerners at his defending, that
both were determined to hang him; he was running
for his life. He took me to a hill from which I could
see the Garrison, and the American flag flying over
it. I looked, and saw we were standing in blood up
to our knees, while here and there ghastly white
bones shone above the red surface. Just then, below
me I saw crowds of people running. "What is it?"
I asked. "It means that in another instant they will
commence to shell the town. Save yourself." "But
Will - I must save some clothes, too! How can I go
among strangers with a single dress? I will get some!"
I cried. He smiled and said, "You will run with
only what articles you happen to have on." Bang!
went the first shell, the people rushed by with
screams, and I awakened to tell Miriam what an
absurd dream I had had. It happened as Will had
said, either that same day or the day after; for the
change of clothes we saved apiece were given to
Tiche, who lost sight of us and quietly came home
when all was over, and the two dirty skirts and old
cloak mother saved, after carrying them a mile and
a half, I put in the buggy that took her up; so I saved
nothing except the bag that was tied under my hoops.
Will was right. I saved not even my powder-bag.
(Tiche had it in the bundle.) My handkerchief I
gave mother before we had walked three squares,
and throughout that long fearfully warm day, riding

and walking through the fiery sunshine and stifling dust,
I had neither to cool or comfort me.

June 19th.

Miriam and I have
disgraced ourselves! This morning I
was quietly hearing Dellie's lessons, when I was startled
by mother's shrieks of "Send for a guard - they've
murdered him!" I saw through the window a soldier
sitting in the road just opposite with blood streaming
from his hand in a great pool in the dust. I was
downstairs in three bounds, and snatching up some
water, ran to where he sat alone not a creature near,
though all the inhabitants of our side of the street were
looking on from the balconies all crying "Murder!" and
"Help!" without moving themselves. I poured some water
on the man's bloody hand, as he held it streaming with
gore up to me, saying, "The man in there did it," meaning
the one who keeps the little grog-shop, though it puzzled
me at the time to see that all the doors were closed and
not a face visible. I had hardly time to speak when Tiche
called loudly to me to come away, - she was safe at the
front gate, - and looking up, I found myself in a knot of a
dozen soldiers, and took her advice and retreated home.
It proved to be the guard Miriam had roused. She ran
out as I did and seeing a gentleman, begged him to call
the guard for that murdered man. The individual - he must
have been a "patriot " - said he did n't know where to
find one. She cried out they were at Heroman's;

he said he did n't believe they were. "Go! I tell you!"
she screamed at last; but the brave man said he did n't
like to, so she ran to the corner and called the soldiers
herself. O most brave man! Before we got back from
our several expeditions, we heard mother, Lilly, Mrs.
Day, all shouting, "Bring in the children! lock the doors!"
etc. All for a poor wounded soldier!

We after discovered that the man was drunk, and had
cursed the woman of the grog-shop, whereupon her
husband had pitched him out in the street, where they
found him. They say he hurt his hand against a post; but
wood could never have cut deep enough to shed all that
gore. I don't care if he was drunk or sober, soldier or
officer, Federal or Confederate! If he had been Satan
himself lying helpless and bleeding in the street, I would
have gone to him! I can't believe it was as criminal as
though I had watched quietly from a distance, believing
him dying and contenting myself with looking on. Yet it
seems it was dreadfully indecorous; Miriam and I did
very wrong; we should have shouted murder with the
rest of the women and servants. Whereas the man who
declined committing himself by calling one soldier to the
rescue of another, supposed to be dying, acted most
discreetly, and showed his wisdom in the most striking
manner.

May I never be discreet, or wise, if this is Christian
conduct, or a sample of either! I would rather be a
rash, impetuous fool! Charlie says he would not

open his mouth to save a dozen from being murdered. I
say I am not Stoic enough for that. Lilly agrees with him,
Miriam with me; so here we two culprits stand alone
before the tribunal of "patriotism." Madame Roland, I
take the liberty of altering your words and cry, "O
Patriotism! How many base deeds are sanctioned by
your name!" Don't I wish I was a heathen! In twenty-four
hours the whole country will be down on us.

O for a pen to paint the slaves
Whose "country" like a deadly blight;
Closes all hearts when Pity craves
And turns God's spirit to darkest night!
May life's patriotic cup for such
Be filled with glory overmuch;
And when their spirits go above in pride,
Spirit of Patriotism, let these valiant abide
Full in the sight of grand mass-meeting - I don't
Want you to cuss them,
But put them where they can hear politics,
And yet can't discuss them!

(I can't say worse than
that!)

June 26th.

Yesterday morning, just
as I stepped out of bed I
heard the report of four cannon fired in rapid
succession, and everybody asked everybody
else, "Did you hear that?" so significantly, that I must
say my heart beat very rapidly for a few moments, at
the thought of another stampede. At half-past six this
morning I was wakened by another report, followed
by seven others, and heard again the question, "Did
you hear that?" on a higher key than yesterday. -

It did not take me many minutes to get out of bed, and
to slip on a few articles, I confess. My chief desire was
to wash my face before running, if they were actually
shelling us again. It appears that they were only
practicing, however, and no harm was intended. But we
are living on such a volcano, that, not knowing what to
expect, we are rather nervous.

I am afraid this close confinement will prove too much
for me; my long walks are cut off, on account of the
soldiers. One month to-morrow since my last visit to
the graveyard! That haunts me always; it must be so
dreary out there! Here is a sketch of my daily life,
enough to finish me off forever, if much longer persisted
in.

First, get up a little before seven. After breakfast,
which is generally within a few minutes after I get down
(it used to be just as I got ready, and sometimes before,
last winter), I attend to my garden, which consists of two
strips of ground the length of the house, in front, where I
can find an hour's work in examining and admiring my
flowers, replanting those that the cows and horses
occasionally (once a day) pull up for me, and in turning
the soil over and over again to see which side grows
best. O my garden! abode of rare delights! how many
pleasant hours I have passed in you, armed with
scissors, knife, hoe, or rake, only pausing when Mr.
This or Mr. That leaned over the fence to have a
talk! - last spring, that was; ever so many are dead
now, for all I know, and all off at the war. Now I

work for the edification of proper young women, who
look in astonishment at me, as they would consider
themselves degraded by the pursuit. A delicate pair of
hands my flower mania will leave me!

Then I hear Dellie's and Morgan's lessons, after which
I open my desk and am lost in the mysteries of
Arithmetic, Geography, Blair's Lectures, Noël et
Chapsal, Ollendorff, and reading aloud in French and
English, besides writing occasionally in each, and
sometimes a peep at Lavoisne, until very nearly dinner.
The day is not half long enough for me. Many things I
would like to study I am forced to give up, for want of
leisure to devote to them. But one of these days, I will
make up for present deficiencies. I study only what I
absolutely love, now; but then, if I can, I will study what I
am at present ignorant of, and cultivate a taste for
something new.

The few moments before dinner, and all the time after,
I devote to writing, sewing, knitting, etc., and if I
included darning, repairs, alterations, etc., my list
would be tremendous, for I get through with a great
deal of sewing. Somewhere in the day, I find half
an hour, or more, to spend at the piano. Before
sunset I dress, and am free to spend the evening
at home, or else walk to Mrs. Brunot's, for it is not safe
to go farther than those three squares, away from
home. From early twilight until supper, Miriam and
I sing with the guitar, generally, and after, sit
comfortably under the chandelier and read until about
ten. What little reading I do, is almost exclusively

done at that time. It sounds woefully little, but my list of
books grows to quite a respectable size, in the course of
a year.

At ten comes my Bible class for the servants. Lucy,
Rose, Nancy, and Dophy assemble in my room, and hear
me read the Bible, or stories from the Bible for a while.
Then one by one say their prayers - they cannot be
persuaded to say them together; Dophy says "she can't
say with Rose, 'cause she ain't got no brothers and sisters
to pray for," and Lucy has no father or mother, and so
they go. All difficulties and grievances during the day are
laid before me, and I sit like Moses judging the children of
Israel, until I can appease the discord. Sometimes it is not
so easy. For instance, that memorable night when I had to
work Rose's stubborn heart to a proper pitch of
repentance for having stabbed a carving fork in Lucy's arm
in a fit of temper. I don't know that I was ever as much
astonished as I was at seeing the dogged, sullen girl throw
herself on the floor in a burst of tears, and say if God
would forgive her she would never do it again. I was
lashing myself internally for not being able to speak as I
should, furious at myself for talking so weakly, and lo!
here the girl tumbles over wailing and weeping!
And Dophy, overcome by her feelings, sobs, "Lucy, I
scratched you last week! please forgive me this
once !" And amazed and bewildered I look at the
touching tableau before me of kissing and reconciliation,
for Lucy can bear malice toward no one, and

is ready to forgive before others repent, and I look from
one to the other, wondering what it was that upset them
so completely, for certainly no words of mine caused it.
Sometimes Lucy sings a wild hymn, "Did you ever hear
the heaven bells ring?" "Come, my loving brothers," "When
I put on my starry crown," etc.; and after some such scene
as that just described, it is pleasant to hear them going
out of the room saying, "Good-night, Miss Sarah!" "God
bless Miss Sarah!" and all that.

June 27th.

A proclamation of Van
Dorn has just been smuggled
into town, that advises all persons living within eight
miles of the Mississippi to remove into the interior, as he
is determined to defend his department at all hazards to
the last extremity. Does not look like the Peace I have
been deluding myself with, does it? That means another
Exodus. How are we to leave, when we are not allowed
to pass the limits of the corporation by the Federals?
Where are we to go? We are between the two armies,
and here we must remain patiently awaiting the result.
Some of these dark nights, bang! we will hear the
cannon, and then it will be sauve qui peut in a shower of
shells Bah! I don't believe God will suffer that we should
be murdered in such a dreadful way! I don't believe He
will suffer us to be turned homeless and naked on the
world! "Something will turn up" before we are
attacked, and we will be spared, I am certain. We

can't look forward more than an hour at a time now,
sometimes not a minute ahead (witness the shelling
frolic), so I must resume my old habit of laying a clean
dress on my bed before going to sleep, which I did
every night for six weeks before the shelling of Baton
Rouge, in order to run respectably, as muslin cross-bar
nightgowns are not suitable for day dresses.

June 28th.

I am afraid I shall be
nervous when the moment of the
bombardment actually arrives. This suspense is not
calculated to soothe one's nerves. A few moments since,
a salute was fired in honor of General Butler's arrival,
when women, children, and servants rushed to the front
of the houses, confident of a repetition of the shelling
which occurred a month ago to-day. The children have
not forgotten the scene, for they all actually howled with
fear. Poor little Sarah stopped her screams to say,
"Mother, don't you wish we was dogs 'stead o' white
folks?" in such piteous accents that we had to laugh.
Don't I wish I was a dog! Sarah is right. I don't know if I
showed my uneasiness a while ago, but certainly my
heart has hardly yet ceased beating rather rapidly. If I
knew what moment to expect the stampede, I would not
mind; but this way - to expect it every instant - it is too
much! Again, if I knew where we could go for refuge
from the shells! -

me a curious twinge; not that I thought it was the signal,
oh, dear, no! I just thought - what, I wonder? Pshaw!
"Picayune Butler's coming, coming" has upset my
nervous system. He interrupted me in the middle of my
arithmetic; and I have not the energy to resume my
studies. I shall try what effect an hour's practice will have
on my spirits, and will see that I have a pair of clean
stockings in my stampede sack, and that the fastenings
of my "running-bag" are safe. Though if I expect to
take either, I should keep in harness constantly. How
long, O Lord! how long?

June 29th, Sunday.

"Any more, Mr.
Lincoln, any more?" Can't you leave
our racked homes in repose? We are all wild. Last
night, five citizens were arrested, on no charge at all,
and carried down to Picayune Butler's ship. What a
thrill of terror ran through the whole community! We
all felt so helpless, so powerless under the hand of
our tyrant, the man who swore to uphold the Constitution
and the laws, who is professedly only fighting to give
us all Liberty, the birthright of every American, and who,
nevertheless, has ground us down to a state where we
would not reduce our negroes, who tortures and sneers
at us, and rules us with an iron hand! Ah! Liberty! what
a humbug! I would rather belong to England or France,
than to the North! Bondage, woman that I am, I can
never stand! Even now, the Northern papers, distributed
among us, taunt us with our subjection and tell us

"how coolly Butler will grind them down, paying no
regard to their writhing and torture beyond tightening the
bonds still more!" Ah, truly! this is the bitterness of
slavery, to be insulted and reviled by cowards who are
safe at home and enjoy the protection of the laws, while
we, captive and overpowered, dare not raise our voices
to throw back the insult, and are governed by the
despotism of one man, whose word is our law! And that
man, they tell us, "is the right man in the right place. He
will develop a Union sentiment among the people, if the
thing can be done!" Come and see if he can! Hear the
curse that arises from thousands of hearts at that man's
name and say if he will "speedily bring us to our senses."
Will he accomplish it by love, tenderness, mercy,
compassion? He might have done it; but did he try? When
he came, he assumed his natural rôle as tyrant, and
bravely has he acted it through, never once turning aside
for Justice or Mercy. . . . This degradation is worse than the
bitterness of death!

I see no salvation on either side. No glory awaits
the Southern Confederacy, even if it does achieve
its independence; it will be a mere speck in the
world, with no weight or authority. The North
confesses itself lost without us, and has paid an
unheard-of ransom to regain us. On the other hand,
conquered, what hope is there in this world for us?
Broken in health and fortune, reviled, contemned,
abused by those who claim already to have subdued
us, without a prospect of future support for those few of our

brothers who return; outcasts without home or honor,
would not death or exile be preferable? Oh, let us
abandon our loved home to these implacable enemies,
and find refuge elsewhere! Take from us property, everything,
only grant us liberty! Is this rather frantic, considering I
abhor politics, and women who meddle with them, above
all? My opinion has not yet changed; I still feel the same
contempt for a woman who would talk at the top of her
voice for the edification of Federal officers, as though
anxious to receive an invitation requesting her presence at
the Garrison. "I can suffer and be still" as far as outward
signs are concerned; but as no word of this has passed
my lips, I give it vent in writing which is more lasting than
words, partly to relieve my heart, partly to prove to my
own satisfaction that I am no coward; for one line of this,
surrounded as we are by soldiers, and liable to have our
houses searched at any instant, would be a sufficient
indictment for high treason.

Under General Williams's rule, I was perfectly
satisfied that whatever was done, was done through
necessity, and under orders from Headquarters, beyond
his control; we all liked him. But now, since Butler's arrival,
I believe I am as frantic in secret as the others are openly.
I know that war sanctions many hard things, and that both
sides practice them; but now we are so completely lost
in Louisiana, Is it fair to gibe and taunt us with our
humiliation? I could stand anything save the cowardly

ridicule and triumph of their papers. Honestly, I believe if
all vile abusive papers on both sides were suppressed,
and some of the fire-eating editors who make a living by
lying were soundly cowhided or had their ears clipped, it
would do more towards establishing peace, than all the
bloodshedding either side can afford. I hope to live to
see it, too. Seems to me, more liberty is allowed to the
press than would be tolerated in speech. Let us speak as
freely as any paper, and see if to-morrow we do not
sleep at Fort Jackson!

This morning the excitement is rare; fifteen more
citizens were arrested and carried off, and all the rest
grew wild with expectation. So great a martyrdom is it
considered, that I am sure those who are not arrested
will be woefully disappointed. It is ludicrous to see how
each man thinks he is the very one they are in search of!
We asked a twopenny lawyer, of no more importance in
the community than Dophy is, if it was possible he was
not arrested. "But I am expecting to be every instant!"
So much for his self-assurance! Those arrested have,
some, been quietly released (those are so smiling and
mysterious that I suspect them), some been obliged to
take the oath, some sent to Fort Jackson. Ah, Liberty!
What a blessing it is to enjoy thy privileges! If some of
these poor men are not taken prisoners, they will die of
mortification at the slight.

Our valiant Governor, the brave Moore, has by
order of the real Governor, Moïse, made himself

visible at some far-distant point, and issued a proclamation,
saying, whereas we of Baton Rouge were held forcibly in
town, he therefore considered men, women, and children
prisoners of war, and as such the Yankees are bound to
supply us with all necessaries, and consequently any one
sending us aid or comfort or provisions from the country
will be severely punished. Only Moore is fool enough for
such an order. Held down by the Federals, our paper
money so much trash, with hardly any other to buy food
and no way of earning it; threatened with starvation and
utter ruin, our own friends, by way of making our burden
lighter, forbid our receiving the means of prolonging life,
and after generously warning us to leave town, which
they know is perfectly impossible, prepare to burn it over
our heads, and let the women run the same risk as the
men. Penned in on one little square mile, here we await
our fate like sheep in the slaughter-pen. Our hour may be
at hand now, it may be to-night; we have only to wait; the
booming of the cannon will announce it to us soon
enough.

Of the six sentenced to Fort Jackson, one is the
Methodist minister, Mr. Craven. The only charge
is, that he was heard to pray for the Confederate
States by some officers who passed his house
during his family prayers. According to that, which
of us would escape unhung? I do not believe there is
a woman in the land who closes her eyes before
praying for God's blessing on the side on which her

brothers are engaged. Are we all to cease? Show me
the dungeon deep enough to keep me from praying for
them! The man represented that he had a large family
totally dependent on him, who must starve. "Let them
get up a subscription," was General Butler's humane
answer. "I will head it myself." It is useless to say the
generous offer was declined.

June 30th.

As a specimen of the
humanity of General Butler,
let me record a threat of his uttered with all the force and
meaning language can convey, and certainly enough to
strike terror in the hearts of frail women, since all these
men believe him fully equal to carry it into execution;
some even believe it will be done. In speaking to Mr.
Solomon Benjamin of foreign intervention in our favor, he
said, "Let England or France try it, and I'll be - if I don't
arm every negro in the South, and make them cut the
throat of every man, woman, and child in it! I'll make
them lay the whole country waste with fire and sword,
and leave it desolate!" Draw me a finer picture of
Coward, Brute, or Bully than that one sentence
portrays! O men of the North! you do your noble hearts
wrong in sending such ruffians among us as the
representatives of a great people! Was ever a
more brutal thought uttered in a more brutal way?
Mother, like many another, is crazy to go away from
here, even to New Orleans; but like the rest, will be
obliged to stand and await her fate. I don't believe

Butler would dare execute his threat, for at the first
attempt, thousands, who are passive now, would cut
the brutal heart from his inhuman breast.

Tuesday, July 1st.

I heard such a good joke
last night! If I had belonged
to the female declaiming club, I fear me I would have
resigned instantly through mere terror. (Thank Heaven, I
don't!) These officers say the women talk too much,
which is undeniable. They then said, they meant to get up
a sewing society, and place in it every woman who makes
herself conspicuous by her loud talking about them.
Fancy what a refinement of torture! But only a few would
suffer; the majority would be only too happy to enjoy the
usual privilege of sewing societies, slander, abuse, and
insinuations. How some would revel in it. The mere threat
makes me quake! If I could so far forget my dignity, and
my father's name, as to court the notice of gentlemen by
contemptible insult, etc., and if I should be ordered to
take my seat at the sewing society - ! ! ! I would never
hold my head up again! Member of a select sewing
circle! Fancy me! (I know "there is never any gossip
in our society, though the one over the way gets up
dreadful reports"; I have heard all that, but would
rather try neither.) Oh, how I would beg and plead!
Fifty years at Fort Jackson, good, kind General
Butler, rather than half an hour in your sewing
society! Gentle, humane ruler, spare me and I split

my throat in shouting "Yankee Doodle" and "Hurrah
for Lincoln!" Any, every thing, so I am not disgraced!
Deliver me from your sewing society, and I'll say and
do what you please!

Butler told some of these gentlemen that he had a
detective watching almost every house in town, and he
knew everything. True or not, it looks suspicious. We are
certainly watched. Every evening two men may be seen
in the shadow on the other side of the street, standing
there until ever so late, sometimes until after we have
gone to bed. It may be that, far from home, they are
attracted by the bright light and singing, and watch us for
their amusement. A few nights ago, so many officers
passed and repassed while we were singing on the
balcony, that I felt as though our habit of long standing
had suddenly become improper. Saturday night, having
secured a paper, we were all crowding around, Lilly and
I reading every now and then a piece of news from
opposite ends of the paper, Charlie, walking on the
balcony, found five officers leaning over the fence
watching us as we stood under the light, through the open
window. Hope they won't elect me to the sewing society!

Thursday night, July 3d.

Another day of sickening
suspense. This evening,
about three, came the rumor that there was to be
an attack on the town to-night, or early in the
morning, and we had best be prepared for anything.
I can't say I believe it, but in spite of my distrust, I

made my preparations. First of all I made a charming
improvement in my knapsack, alias pillow-case, by
sewing a strong black band down each side of the
centre from the bottom to the top, when it is carried
back and fastened below again, allowing me to pass my
arms through, and thus present the appearance of an old
peddler. Miriam's I secured also, and tied all our laces in
a handkerchief ready to lay it in the last thing.

But the interior of my bag! - what a medley it is! First,
I believe, I have secured four underskirts; three chemises,
as many pairs of stockings, two underbodies, the prayer
book father gave me, "Tennyson" that Harry gave me
when I was fourteen, two unmade muslins, a white mull,
English grenadine trimmed with lilac, and a purple linen,
and nightgown. Then, I must have Lavinia's daguerreotype,
and how could I leave Will's, when perhaps he was dead?
Besides, Howell's and Will Carter's were with him, and
one single case did not matter. But there was Tom
Barker's I would like to keep, and oh! let's take Mr.
Stone's! and I can't slight Mr. Dunnington, for these two
have been too kind to Jimmy for me to forget; and poor
Captain Huger is dead, and I will keep his, so they all
went together. A box of pens, too, was indispensable,
and a case of French notepaper, and a bundle of Harry's
letters were added. Miriam insisted on the old diary that
preceded this and found place for it, though I am afraid if
she knew what trash she was to carry, she would retract
before going farther.

It makes me heartsick to see the utter ruin we will be
plunged in if forced to run to-night. Not a hundredth part
of what I most value can be saved - if I counted my
letters and papers, not a thousandth. But I cannot believe
we will run to-night. The soldiers tell whoever questions
them that there will be a fight before morning, but I
believe it must be to alarm them. Though what looks
suspicious is, that the officers said - to whom is not
stated - that the ladies must not be uneasy if they heard
cannon tonight, as they would probably commence to
celebrate the Fourth of July about twelve o'clock. What
does it mean? I repeat, I don't believe a word of it; yet I
have not yet met the woman or child who is not prepared
to fly. Rose knocked at the door just now to show her
preparations. Her only thought seems to be mother's
silver, so she has quietly taken possession of our
shoe-bag, which is a long sack for odds
and ends with cases for shoes outside, and has filled
it with all the contents of the silver-box; this hung
over her arm, and carrying Louis and Sarah, this
young Samson says she will be ready to fly.

I don't believe it, yet here I sit, my knapsack
serving me for a desk, my seat the chair on which I
have carefully spread my clothes in order. At my
elbow lies my running- or treasure-bag, surrounded
by my cabas filled with hair-pins, starch, and a band I was
embroidering, etc.; near it lie our combs, etc., and the
whole is crowned by my dagger; - by the way, I must
add Miriam's pistol which she has forgotten,

though over there lies her knapsack ready, too,
with our bonnets and veils.

It is long past eleven, and no sound of the cannon
Bah! I do not expect it. "I'll lay me down and sleep in
peace, for Thou only, Lord, makest me to dwell in
safety." Good-night! I wake up to-morrow the same as
usual, and be disappointed that my trouble was
unnecessary.

July 4th.

Here I am, and still
alive, having wakened but once in
the night, and that only in consequence of Louis and
Morgan crying; nothing more alarming than that. I ought
to feel foolish; but I do not. I am glad I was prepared,
even though there was no occasion for it.

While I was taking my early bath, Lilly came to the
bath-house and told me through the weather-boarding of
another battle. Stonewall Jackson has surrounded
McClellan completely, and victory is again ours. This is
said to be the sixth battle he has fought in twenty days,
and they say he has won them all. And the Seventh
Regiment distinguished itself, and was presented with
four cannon on the battlefield in acknowledgment of its
gallant conduct! Gibbes belongs to the "ragged howling
regiment that rushed on the field yelling like unchained
devils and spread a panic through the army," as the
Northern papers said, describing the battle of Manassas.
Oh, how I hope he has escaped!

of the Confederacy, and an armed intervention
on our side." Would it not be glorious? Oh, for peace,
blessed peace, and our brothers once more! Palmerston
is said to have painted Butler as the vilest oppressor, and
having added he was ashamed to acknowledge him of
Anglo-Saxon origin. Perhaps knowing the opinion
entertained of him by foreign nations, caused Butler to
turn such a somersault. For a few days before his arrival
here, we saw a leading article in the leading Union paper
of New Orleans, threatening us with the arming of the
slaves for our extermination if England interfered, in the
same language almost as Butler used when here; three
days ago the same paper ridiculed the idea, and said
such a brutal, inhuman thing was never for a moment
thought of, it was too absurd. And so the world goes!
We all turn somersaults occasionally.

And yet, I would rather we would achieve our
independence alone, if possible. It would be so much
more glorious. And then I would hate to see England
conquer the North, even if for our sake; my love
for the old Union is still too great to be willing to see
it so humiliated. If England would just make Lincoln
come to his senses, and put an end to all this
confiscation which is sweeping over everything,
make him agree to let us alone and behave himself,
that will be quite enough. But what a task! If it
were put to the vote to-morrow to return free and
unmolested to the Union, or stay out, I am sure
Union would have the majority; but this way, to

think we are to be sent to Fort Jackson and all the other
prisons for expressing our ideas, however harmless, to
have our houses burned over our heads, and all the
prominent men hanged, who would be eager for
it? - unless, indeed, it was to escape even the greater
horrors of a war of extermination.

Think, that since the
28th of May, I have not
walked three squares at a time, for my only walks are to
Mrs. Brunot's!

It is enough to kill any
one; I might as well be at Ship
Island, where Butler has sentenced Mrs. Phillips for
laughing while the corpse of a Federal officer 1 was
passing - at least, that is to be the principal charge,
though I hope, for the sake of Butler's soul, that he had
better reasons. Shocking as her conduct was, she hardly
deserved two years' close confinement in such a dreadful
place as that, because she happened to have no sense of
delicacy, and no feeling.

"The darkest hour is
just before the day"; we have
had the blackest night for almost three months, and I
don't see the light yet. "Better days are coming -" I am
getting skeptical, I fear me.

I look forward to my future life with a shudder.
This one cannot last long; I will be "up and doing"
before many months are past. Doing what ? Why, if

all father left us is lost forever, if we are to be penniless
as well as homeless, I'll work for my living. How, I
wonder? I will teach. I know I am not capable, but I can
do my best. I would rather die than be dependent; I
would rather die than teach. There now, you know how
I feel! Teaching before dependence, death before
teaching. My soul revolts from the drudgery. I never see
a governess that my heart does not ache for her. I think
of the nameless, numberless insults and trials she is
forced to submit to; of the hopeless, thankless task that
is imposed on her, to which she is expected to submit
without a murmur; of all her griefs and agony shut up in
her heart, and I cry Heaven help a governess. My heart
bleeds for them and -

1 o'clock P.M.

Thus far had I reached
when news came that our
forces were attacking the town, and had already driven
the pickets in! I am well now.

We all rushed to make preparations instantly. I had
just finished washing my hair, before I commenced
writing, and had it all streaming around me; but it
did not take a minute to thrust it into a loose net.
Then we each put on a fresh dress, except myself,
as I preferred to have a linen cambric worn several
times before, to a clean one not quite so nice, for
that can do good service when washed. The
excitement is intense; mother is securing a few
of father's most valuable papers; Lilly running around
after the children, and waiting for Charlie who cannot be

found; Miriam, after securing all things needful, has gone
downstairs to wait the issue; and I, dressed for instant
flight, with my running-bag tied to my waist, and
knapsack, bonnet, veil, etc., on the bed, occupy my last
few moments at home in this profitable way.

Nobody knows what it is. A regiment has been
marched out to meet our troops, some say commanded
by Van Dorn, which I doubt. The gunboats are preparing
to second them; we hear the Garrison drum and see
people running, that is all. We don't know what is
coming. I believe it will prove nothing, after all. But - !
The gunboat is drawn up so as to command our street
here; the guns aimed up the street Just below, and if a
house falls, ours will be about the first. Well! this time
next year, we will know all of which we are now
ignorant. That is one consolation! The house will either
be down or standing, then.

6 P.M.

We have once more
subsided; how foolish all this
seems! Miriam and I laughed while preparing, and
laughed while unpacking; it is the only way to take
such things, and we agree on that, as on most other
subjects. "They say" the affair originated from half
a dozen shots fired by some Federal soldiers
through idleness, whereupon the pickets rushed in
screaming Van Dorn was after them at the head of
six thousand men. I have my reasons for doubting
the story; it must have been something more than

that, to spread such a panic; for they certainly had time
to ascertain the truth of the attack before they beat the
long roll and sent out their troops, for if it had been Van
Dorn, he would have been on them before that. Whatever
it was, I am glad of the excitement, for it gave me new
life for several hours; I was really sick before. Oh, this
life! When will it end? Evermore and forevermore shall
we live in this suspense? I wish we were in the Sandwich
Islands.

July 7th.

As we have no longer a
minister - Mr. Gierlow having
gone to Europe - and no papers, I am in danger of
forgetting the days of the week, as well as those of the
month; but I am positive that yesterday was Sunday
because I heard the Sunday-School bells, and Friday I
am sure was the Fourth, because I heard the national
salute fired. I must remember that to find my dates by.

Well, last night being Sunday, a son of Captain
Hooper, who died in the Fort Jackson fight, having
just come from New Orleans, stopped here on his
way to Jackson, to tell us the news, or rather to see
Charlie, and told us afterwards. He says a boat
from Mobile reached the city Saturday evening,
and the captain told Mr. La Noue that he brought
an extra from the former place, containing news of
McClellan's surrender with his entire army, his
being mortally wounded, and the instant departure
of a French, and English, man-of-war, from

Hampton Roads, with the news. That revived my spirits
considerably - all except McClellan's being wounded; I
could dispense with that. But if it were true, and if peace
would follow, and the boys come home - ! Oh, what
bliss! I would die of joy as rapidly as I am pining away
with suspense now, I am afraid!

About ten o'clock, as we came up, mother went to the
window in the entry to tell the news to Mrs. Day, and
while speaking, saw a man creeping by under the
window, in the narrow little alley on the side of the house,
evidently listening, for he had previously been standing in
the shadow of a tree, and left the street to be nearer.
When mother ran to give the alarm to Charlie, I looked
down, and there the man was, looking up, as I could
dimly see, for he crouched down in the shadow of the
fence. Presently, stooping still, he ran fast towards the
front of the house, making quite a noise in the long tangled
grass. When he got near the pepper-bush, he drew
himself up to his full height, paused a moment as though
listening, and then walked quietly towards the front gate.
By that time Charlie reached the front gallery above, and
called to him, asking what he wanted. Without answering
the man walked steadily out, closed the gate deliberately;
then, suddenly remembering drunkenness would be the
best excuse, gave a lurch towards the house, walked off
perfectly straight in the moonlight, until seeing Dr. Day
fastening his gate, he reeled again.

That man was not drunk! Drunken men cannot run
crouching, do not shut gates carefully after them, would
have no inclination to creep in a dim little alley merely to
creep out again. It may have been one of our detectives.
Standing in the full moonlight, which was very bright, he
certainly looked like a gentleman, for he was dressed in
a handsome suit of black. He was no citizen. Form your
own conclusions! Well! after all, he heard no treason.
Let him play eavesdropper if he finds it consistent with
his character as a gentleman.

The captain who brought the extra from Mobile
wished to have it reprinted, but it was instantly seized
by a Federal officer, who carried it to Butler, who
monopolized it; so that will never be heard of again; we
must wait for other means of information. The young boy
who told us, reminds me very much of Jimmy; he is by
no means so handsome, but yet there is something that
recalls him; and his voice, though more childish, sounds
like Jimmy's, too. I had an opportunity of writing to
Lydia by him, of which I gladly availed myself, and have
just finished a really tremendous epistle.

Wednesday, 9th July.

Poor Miriam! Poor Sarah!
they are disgraced again!
Last night we were all sitting on the balcony in the
moonlight, singing as usual with our guitar. I have
been so accustomed to hear father say in the
evening, "Come, girls! where is my concert?" and he
took so much pleasure in listening, that I could not

think singing in the balcony was so very dreadful, since
he encouraged us in it. But last night changed all my
ideas. We noticed Federals, both officers and soldiers,
pass singly, or by twos or threes at different times, but as
we were not singing for their benefit, and they were
evidently attending to their own affairs, there was no
necessity of noticing them at all.

But about half-past nine, after we had sung two or
three dozen others, we commenced "Mary of Argyle."
As the last word died away, while the chords were still
vibrating, came a sound of - clapping hands, in short!
Down went every string of the guitar; Charlie cried, "I
told you so!" and ordered an immediate retreat;
Miriam objected, as undignified, but renounced
the guitar; mother sprang to her feet, and closed
the front windows in an instant, whereupon, dignified
or not, we all evacuated the gallery and fell back
into the house. All this was done in a few minutes,
and as quietly as possible; and while the gas was
being turned off downstairs, Miriam and I flew
upstairs, - I confess I was mortified to death, very,
very much ashamed, - but we wanted to see the
guilty party, for from below they were invisible. We
stole out on the front balcony above, and in front of
the house that used to be Gibbes's, we beheld one of
the culprits. At the sight of the creature, my mortification
vanished in intense compassion for his. He was standing
under the tree, half in the moonlight, his hands in his
pockets, looking at the extinction of light below, with the true

state of affairs dawning on his astonished mind, and
looking by no means satisfied with himself! Such an
abashed creature! He looked just as though he had
received a kick, that, conscious of deserving, he dared
not return! While he yet gazed on the house in silent
amazement and consternation, hands still forlornly
searching his pockets, as though for a reason for our
behavior, from under the dark shadow of the tree
another slowly picked himself up from the ground - hope
he was not knocked down by surprise - and joined the
first. His hands sought his pockets, too, and, if possible,
he looked more mortified than the other. After looking
for some time at the house, satisfied that they had put an
end to future singing from the gallery, they walked slowly
away, turning back every now and then to be certain that
it was a fact. If ever I saw two mortified, hangdog-looking
men, they were these two as they took their way home.
Was it not shocking?

But they could not have meant it merely to be insulting
or they would have placed themselves in full view of us,
rather than out of sight, under the trees. Perhaps they
were thinking of their own homes, instead of us.

July 10th.

A proclamation is out
announcing that any one
talking about the war, or present state of affairs,
will be "summarily" dealt with. Now, seems to me
"summarily" is not exactly the word they mean, but
still it has an imposing effect. What a sad state

their affairs must be in, if they can't bear comment. An
officer arrived day before yesterday, bringing the
surprising intelligence that McClellan had captured
Richmond and fifty thousand prisoners; that is the time
they talked. But when we received yesterday
confirmation of his being finally defeated by our troops,
and the capture of his railroad train twelve miles in length,
they forbid further mention of the subject. I wonder if
they expect to be obeyed? What a stretch of tyranny! O
free America! You who uphold free people, free speech,
free everything, what a foul blot of despotism rests on a
once spotless name! A nation of brave men, who wage
war on women and lock them up in prisons for using their
woman weapon, the tongue; a nation of free people who
advocate despotism; a nation of Brothers who bind the
weaker ones hand and foot, and scourge them with
military tyrants and other Free, Brotherly institutions;
what a picture! Who would not be an American? One
consolation is, that this proclamation, and the
extraordinary care they take to suppress all news except
what they themselves manufacture, proves me our cause
is prospering more than they like us to know. I do
believe day is about to break!

If our troops are determined to burn our houses
over our heads to spite the Yankees, I wish they
would hurry and have it over at once. Ten regiments
of infantry are stationed at Camp Moore, and Scott's
cavalry was expected at Greenwell yesterday, both
preparing for an attack on Baton Rouge. If we must

A letter from George this
morning! It was written on
the 20th of June, and he speaks of being on crutches in
consequence of his horse having fallen with him, and
injured his knee. Perhaps, then, he was not in the first
battle of the 25th? But bah! I know George too well to
imagine he would keep quiet at such a moment, if he
could possibly stand! I am sure he was there with the
rest of the Louisiana regiment. The papers say "the
conduct of the First Louisiana is beyond all praise"; of
course, George was there!

And Jimmy is with him at Richmond; but whether in
the army, or navy, or what rank if in the first, he does not
say; he only says he is looking remarkably well. Gibbes
he had heard from in a letter dated the 16th, and up to
then he was in perfect health. His last letter here was
dated 10th of March, so we are thankful enough now. I
was so delighted to read the accounts of the "gallant
Seventh" in some paper we fortunately procured. At
Jackson's address, and presentation of the battery they
had so bravely won, I was beside myself with delight; I
was thinking that Gibbes, of course, was "the" regiment,
had taken the battery with his single sword, and I know
not what besides. Strange to say, I have not an idea of
the names of the half-dozen battles he was in, in June,
but believe that one to be Port Republic.

Page 114

June 12th [sic].

Brother writes that
rumors of the capture of Baton
Rouge by our troops have made him very uneasy about
us; and he wishes us to go down to New Orleans if
possible. I wish we could. The impression here, is that
an attack is inevitable, and the city papers found it
necessary to contradict the rumor of Ruggles having
occupied it already. I wish mother would go. I can see
no difference there or here, except that there, we will be
safe, for a while at least. . . .

I grow desperate when I read these Northern
papers reviling and abusing us, reproaching us for
being broken and dispersed, taunting us with their
victories, sparing no humiliating name in speaking of
us, and laughing as to what "we'll see" when we vile
rebels are "driven out of Virginia, and the glorious
Union firmly established." I can't bear these taunts! I
grow sick to read these vile, insulting papers that seem
written expressly to goad us into madness! . . . There
must be many humane, reasonable men in the North; can
they not teach their editors decency in this their hour of
triumph?

July 13th, Sunday.

A profitable way to spend
such a day! Being
forced to dispense with church-going, I have occupied
myself in reading a great deal, and writing a little,
which latter duty is a favorite task of mine after church
on Sundays. But this evening, the mosquitoes are
so savage that writing became impossible,

until Miriam and I instituted a grand extermination
process, which we partly accomplished by
extraordinary efforts. She lay on the bed with the bar
half-drawn over her, and half-looped up, while I was
commissioned to fan the wretches from all corners into
the pen. It was rather fatiguing, and in spite of the
numbers slain, hardly recompensed me for the trouble of
hunting them around the room; but still, Miriam says
exercise is good for me, and she ought to know.

I have been reading that old disguster, Boswell.
Bah! I have no patience with the toady! I suppose
"my mind is not yet thoroughly impregnated with
the Johnsonian ether," and that is the reason why
I cannot appreciate him, or his work. I admire him
for his patience and minuteness in compiling such
trivial details. He must have been an amiable man,
to bear Johnson's brutal, ill-humored remarks; but
seems to me if I had not spirit enough to resent the
indignity, I would at least not publish it to the world!
Briefly, my opinion, which this book has only tended to
confirm, is that Boswell was a vain, conceited prig, a
fool of a jackanape, an insupportable sycophant,
a - whatever mean thing you please; there is no word
small enough to suit him. As to Johnson, he is a surly old
bear; in short, an old brute of a tyrant. All his knowledge and
attainments could not have made me tolerate him, I am
sure. I could have no respect for a man who was so
coarse in speech and manners, and who eat like an animal.

Fact is, I am not a Boswellian, or a Johnsonian, either. I
do not think him such an extraordinary man. I have heard
many conversations as worthy of being recorded as
nineteen-twentieths of his. In spite of his learning, he was
narrow-minded and bigoted, which I despise above all
earthly failings. Witness his tirades against Americans,
calling us Rascals, Robbers, Pirates, and saying he would
like to burn us! Now I have railed at many of these
ordinary women here, for using like epithets for the
Yankees, and have felt the greatest contempt for their
absurd abuse. These poor women do not aspire to
Johnsonian wisdom, and their ignorance may serve as an
excuse for their narrow-mindedness; but the wondrous
Johnson to rave and bellow like any Billingsgate nymph!
Bah! He is an old disguster!

July 14th, 3 P.M.

Another pleasant
excitement. News has just arrived
that Scott's cavalry was having a hard fight with the
Yankees eight miles from town. Everybody immediately
commenced to pick up stray articles, and get ready to
fly, in spite of the intense heat. I am resigned, as I hardly
expect a shelling. Another report places the fight
fourteen miles from here. A man on horseback came in
for reinforcements. Heaven help poor Howell, if it is true.
I am beginning to doubt half I hear. People tell me the
most extravagant things, and if I am fool enough to believe
them and repeat them, I suddenly discover that it is not

half so true as it might be, and as they themselves
frequently deny having told it, all the odium of
"manufacturing" rests on my shoulders, which have not
been accustomed to bear lies of any kind. I mean to
cease believing anything, unless it rests on the word of
some responsible person. By the way - the order I so
confidently believed, concerning the proclamation, turns
out not quite so bad. I was told women were included,
and it extended to private houses as well as public ones,
though I fortunately omitted that when I recorded it.
When I read it, it said, "All discussions concerning the
war are prohibited in bar-rooms, public assemblies, and
street corners." As women do not frequent such places,
and private houses are not mentioned, I cannot imagine
how my informant made the mistake, unless, like me, it
was through hearing it repeated. Odious as I thought it
then, I think it wise now; for more than one man has lost
his life through discussions of the kind.

July 17th, Thursday.

It is decided that I am
to go to New Orleans next
week. I hardly know which I dislike most, going or
staying. I know I shall be dreadfully homesick;
but -

Remember - and keep quiet, Sarah, I beg of
you. Everything points to an early attack here. Some
say this week. The Federals are cutting down all
our beautiful woods near the Penitentiary, to

throw up breastworks, some say. Cannon are to be
planted on the foundation of Mr. Pike's new house;
everybody is in a state of expectation. Honestly, if Baton
Rouge has to be shelled, I shall hate to miss the fun. It
will be worth seeing, and I would like to be present, even
at the risk of losing my big toe by a shell. But then, by
going, I can save many of my clothes, and then Miriam
and I can divide when everything is burned - that is one
advantage, besides being beneficial by the change of air.
They say the town is to be attacked to-night. I don't
believe a word of it.

Oh, I was so distressed this evening! They tell me Mr.
Biddle was killed at Vicksburg. I hope it is not true.
Suppose it was a shot from Will's battery?

July 20th, Sunday.

Last night the town was
in a dreadful state of
excitement. Before sunset a regiment, that
had been camped out of town, came in, and
pitched their tents around the new theatre, in
front of our church. All was commotion and bustle;
and as the pickets had been drawn in, and the
soldiers talked freely of expecting an attack,
everybody believed it, and was consequently in
rather an unpleasant state of anticipation. Their
cannon were on the commons back of the church,
the artillery horses tied to the wheels; while some
dozen tents were placed around, filled with men
who were ready to harness them at the first
alarm. With all these preparations in full view,

we went to bed as usual. I did not even take the trouble
of gathering my things which I had removed from my
"peddler sack"; and slept, satisfied that, if forced to fly, I
would lose almost everything in spite of my precaution in
making a bag.

Well! night passed, and here is morning, and nothing is
heard yet. The attack is delayed until this evening, or
to-morrow, they say. Woman though I am, I am by no
means as frightened as some of these men are. I can't get
excited about it. Perhaps it is because they know the
danger, and I do not. But I hate to see men uneasy! I
have been so accustomed to brave, fearless ones, who
would beard the Devil himself, that it gives me a great
disgust to see any one less daring than father and the
boys.

I have been so busy preparing to go to the city that I
think if the frolic should intervene and prevent my
departure, I would be disappointed, though I do not
want to go. It would be unpleasant, for instance, to pack
all I own in my trunk, and just as I place the key in my
pocket to hear the shriek of "Van Dorn!" raised again.
This time it is to be Ruggles, though. I would not mind if
he came before I was packed. Besides, even if I miss
the fun here, they say the boats are fired into from
Plaquemine; and then I have the pleasure of being in a
fight anyhow. Mother is alarmed about that part of
my voyage, but Miriam and I persuaded her it is
nothing.

with the boys! . . . What is the use of all these worthless
women, in war times? If they attack, I shall don the
breeches, and join the assailants, and fight, though I think
they would be hopeless fools to attempt to capture a
town they could not hold for ten minutes under the
gunboats. How do breeches and coats feel, I wonder? I
am actually afraid of them. I kept a suit of Jimmy's
hanging in the armoir for six weeks waiting for the
Yankees to come, thinking fright would give me courage
to try it (what a seeming paradox!), but I never
succeeded. Lilly one day insisted on my trying it, and I
advanced so far as to lay it on the bed, and then carried
my bird out - I was ashamed to let even my canary see
me; - but when I took a second look, my courage
deserted me, and there ended my first and last attempt at
disguise. I have heard so many girls boast of having worn
men's clothes; I wonder where they get the courage.

To think half the men in town sat up all night in
expectation of a stampede, while we poor women
slept serenely! Everybody is digging pits to hide in
when the ball opens. The Days have dug a tremendous
one; the Wolffs, Sheppers, and some fifty others have
taken the same precaution. They may as well dig
their graves at once; what if a tremendous shell
should burst over them, and bury in the dirt those
who were not killed? Oh, no! let me see all the
danger, and the way it is coming, at once. To-morrow,
- or day after, - in case no unexpected little incident

occurs in the interval, I purpose going to New Orleans,
taking father's papers and part of Miriam's and mother's
valuables for safe-keeping. I hate to go, but they all think
I should, as it will be one less to look after if we are
shelled - which I doubt. I don't know that I require
much protection, but I might as well be agreeable and
go. Ouf! how I will grow homesick, before I am out of
sight!

Midnight.

Here we go, sure enough.
At precisely eleven o'clock,
while we were enjoying our first dreams, we were
startled by the long roll which was beat half a square
below us. At first I only repeated "The roll of the drum,"
without an idea connected with it; but hearing the
soldiers running, in another instant I was up, and was
putting on my stockings when Miriam ran in, in her
nightgown. The children were roused and dressed
quickly, and it did not take us many instants to
prepare, - the report of two shots, and the tramp of
soldiers, cries of "Double-quick," and sound as of
cannon moving, rather hastening our movements.
Armoirs, bureaus, and everything else were thrown
open, and Miriam and I hastily packed our sacks with
any articles that came to hand, having previously taken
the precaution to put on everything fresh from the armoir.
We have saved what we can; but I find myself obliged to leave
one of my new muslins I had just finished, as it occupied
more room than I can afford, the body of my lovely

lilac, and my beauteous white mull. But then, I have
saved eight half-made linen chemises! that will be better
than the outward show.

Here comes an alarm of fire - at least a dreadful odor
of burning cotton which has set everybody wild with fear
that conflagration is to be added to these horrors. The
cavalry swept past on their way to the river ten minutes
ago, and here comes the news that the gunboats are
drawing up their anchors and making ready. Well! here
an hour has passed; suppose they do not come after all?
I have been watching two sentinels at the corner, who
are singing and dancing in the gayest way. One reminds
me of Gibbes; I have seen him dance that way often. I
was glad to see a good-humored man again. I wish I
was in bed. I am only sitting up to satisfy my conscience,
for I have long since ceased to expect a real bombardment.
If it must come, let it be now; I am tired of waiting. A crowd
of women have sought the protection of the gunboats. I am
distressed about the Brunots; suppose they did not hear
the noise? O girls! if I was a man, I wonder what would
induce me to leave you four lone, unprotected women
sleeping in that house, unconscious of all this? Is
manhood a dream that is past? Is humanity an idle
name? Fatherless, brotherless girls, if I was honored
with the title of Man, I do believe I would be fool
enough to run around and wake you, at least! Not
another word, though. I shall go mad with rage and
disgust. I am going to bed. This must be a humbug.

Morgan came running in, once more in his nightgear,
begging Lilly to hear his prayers. In answer to her "Why?
You have said them to-night!" he says, "Yes! but I've
been getting up so often!" Poor child! no wonder he is
perplexed!

One hour and a half of this nonsense, and no result
known. We are told the firing commenced, and the
pickets were driven in, twenty minutes before the long
roll beat.

July 21st.

It is impossible to
discover the true story of last
night's alarm. Some say it was a gang of negroes who
attacked the pickets in revenge for having been turned
out of the Garrison; others say it was a number of our
soldiers who fired from the bushes; and the most
amusing story is that they took alarm at an old white
horse, which they killed, mistaking him for the
Confederates. One regiment has refused to do picket
duty; and the story runs among these poor soldiers
that our army, which is within a mile, is perfectly
overwhelming. The excitement still continues.

I have been writing to the Brunots the news
confirming the death of McClellan, the surrender
of his army, and the good tidings of our Ram's
recent exploits above Vicksburg, and her arriving
safely under the guns there. If we could keep all the
dispatches that have passed between us since the
battle of the forts, what a collection of absurdity and
contradiction it would be! "Forts have been taken."
"Their ships have passed; forts safe ; Yankees at our

mercy." "Ships at New Orleans. City to be bombarded
in twelve hours." "Forts surrendered." "City under
British protection." "No, it is n't." "City surrendered."
"Mistake." "Baton Rouge to be burned when Yankee
ships come." And soon, sometimes three times a day,
each dispatch contradicting the other, and all equally
ridiculous.

The crowd here seems to increase. The streets are
thronged with the military, and it will soon be impossible
to go even to Mrs. Brunot's, which will be a great
privation to me. . . . Five thousand are to come next week,
and then it will really be impossible to go in the streets.

July 22d, Tuesday.

Another such day, and
there is the end of me! Charlie
decided to send Lilly and the children into the country
early to-morrow morning, and get them safely out of this
doomed town. Mother, Miriam, and I were to remain
here alone. Take the children away, and I can stand
whatever is to come; but this constant alarm, with five
babies in the house, is too much for any of us. So we
gladly packed their trunks and got them ready, and then
news came pouring in.

First a negro man just from the country told Lilly
that our soldiers were swarming out there, that he
had never seen so many men. Then Dena wrote
us that a Mrs. Bryan had received a letter from her
son, praying her not to be in Baton Rouge after
Wednesday morning, as they were to attack to-morrow.
Then a man came to Charlie, and told him that

though he was on parole, yet as a Mason he must beg
him not to let his wife sleep in town to-night; to get her
away before sunset. But it is impossible for her to start
before morning. Hearing so many rumors, all pointing to
the same time, we began to believe there might be some
danger; so I packed all necessary clothing that could be
dispensed with now in a large trunk for mother, Miriam,
and me, and got it ready to send out in the country to
Mrs. Williams. All told, I have but eight dresses left; so I'll
have to be particular. I am wealthy, compared to
what I would have been Sunday night, for then I had but
two in my sack, and now I have my best in the trunk. If
the attack comes before the trunk gets off, or if the trunk
is lost, we will verily be beggars; for I pack well, and it
contains everything of any value in clothing.

The excitement is on the increase, I think. Everybody
is crazy to leave town.

Thursday, July 24th.

Yes; that must be the
date, for one day and two
nights have passed since I was writing here. Where
shall I begin the story of my wanderings? I don't
know that it has a beginning, it is all so hurried and
confused.

But it was Tuesday evening that the Federals were
seized with a panic which threw the whole town in
alarm. They said our troops were within eight miles,
ten thousand in number. The report was even started
that the advance guard was skirmishing with

the Federals; the shots were heard distinctly, a dozen
people were ready to swear. The Yankees struck their
tents, galloped with their cannon through the streets with the
most terrific din, troops passed at double-quick on their way
to the Garrison, everything was confusion. Mr. Tunnard told
us yesterday he was present when part of them reached the
gate of the Garrison, and saw one of the officers spring
forward, waving his sword, and heard him cry, "Trot, men!
Gallop, I say! Damn you! run in!" - with a perfect yell at
the close; whereupon all lookers-on raised a shout of laughter,
for the man was frightened out of his wits. A Federal
officer told him that their fright was really a disgrace; and if one
thousand of our men had come in town, the whole
thirty-five hundred would have been at their
mercy. Even the naval officers denounce it as a most
arrant piece of cowardice; for instead of marching
their troops out to meet ours, they all rushed into
the Garrison, where, if attacked, their only retreat
would have been into the river. The gunboats were
ordered into the middle of the stream, in front of the
Garrison; and cooped up there, these valiant men
awaited the assault in such trepidation that yesterday
they freely said the force could be purchased for
fifty cents, they are so ashamed of their panic.

Imagine what effect this had on the inhabitants!
Soon, an exodus took place, in the direction of
the Asylum, and we needs must follow the general
example and run, too. In haste we packed a trunk

with our remaining clothes, - what we could get in, - and
the greatest confusion prevailed for an hour. Beatrice had
commenced to cry early in the evening, and redoubled
her screams when she saw the preparations; and Louis
joining in, they cried in concert until eight o'clock, when
we finally got off. What a din! Lilly looked perfectly
exhausted; that look on her face made me heartsick.
Miriam flew around everywhere; mother always had one
more article to find, and the noise was dreadful, when
white and black assembled in the hall ready at last.
Charlie placed half of the trunks on the dray, leaving the
rest for another trip; and we at last started off. Besides
the inevitable running-bag, tied to my waist, on this stifling
night I had my sunbonnet, veil, comb, toothbrush, cabas
filled with dozens of small articles, and dagger to carry;
and then my heart failed me when I thought of my guitar,
so I caught it up in the case; and remembering father's
heavy inkstand, I seized that, too, with two fans. If I was
asked what I did with all these things, I could not answer.
Certain it is I had every one in my hands, and was not
very ridiculous to behold.

Seventeen in number, counting white and black, our
procession started off, each loaded in their own way.
The soldiers did not scruple to laugh at us. Those
who were still waiting in front of the churches to be
removed laughed heartily, and cried, "Hello!
Where are you going? Running? Good-bye!"
Fortunately they could not see our faces, for it was

very dark. One stopped us under a lamp-post and
wanted us to go back. He said he knew we were to be
attacked, for the Confederates were within five miles;
but we were as safe at home as at the Asylum. He was a
very handsome, respectable-looking man, though dirty,
as Yankee soldiers always are, and in his shirt-sleeves
besides. We thanked him for his kindness, and went on.
All stopped at the Brunots', to see that they were ready
to fly; but the two parties were so tremendous that we
gladly divided, and Miriam and I remained with them
until they could get ready, while our detachment went
on.

Wagons, carts, every vehicle imaginable, passed on
to places of safety, loaded with valuables, while women
and children hurried on, on foot. It took the Brunots as
long to prepare as it did us. I had to drag Sophie out of
her bed, where she threw herself, vowing she would not
run; and after an interminable length of time, we were at
last ready and started, with the addition of Mrs. Loucks
and her sons in our train. The volunteer, whose sole duty
seems to be to watch the Brunots, met us as we got out.
He stopped as he met the first, looked in silence until
Sophie and I passed, and then burst out laughing. No
wonder! What a walk it was! Nobody hesitated to
laugh, even though they meant to run themselves, and we
made fun of each other, too, so our walk was merry
enough.

When we reached there, the Asylum was already
crowded - at least, it would have been a crowd in

any other place, though a mere handful in such a
building. The whole house was illuminated, up to
the fifth story, and we were most graciously received
by the director, who had thrown the whole house
open to whoever chose to come, and exerted himself
to be accommodating. It looked like a tremendous
hotel where every one is at home; not a servant or
one of the deaf and dumb children was to be seen;
we had all the lower story to ourselves. Was n't it
pleasant to unload, and deposit all things in a place
of safety! It was a great relief. Then we five girls
walked on the splendid balcony which goes around
the house until we could no longer walk, when I
amused myself by keeping poor Sophie standing,
since she would not sit down like a Christian, but
insisted on going to bed like a lazy girl, as she is.
When I finally let her go, it did not take her many
minutes to undress, and soon we were all ready for
bed. The Brunots had beds on the parlor floor; across
the wide hall, we had a room opposite; and next to
ours, Lilly and the children were all sleeping soundly.
I ran the blockade of the hall in my nightgown, and
had a splendid romp with the girls after rolling
Sophie out of bed, and jerking Nettie up. Mother
and Mrs. Brunot cried, "Order," laughing, but they
came in for their share of the sport, until an admiring
crowd of females at the door told us by their amused
faces they were enjoying it, too; so I ran the gauntlet
again, and got safely through the hall, and after a few
more inroads, in one of which Miriam accompanied

me, and on which occasion I am sure we were
seen in our nightgowns, we finally went to bed. I won't
say went to sleep, for I did not pretend to doze. All our
side of the house had bars, except me; and the
mosquitoes were unendurable; so I watched mother and
Miriam in their downy slumbers and lay on my hard bed
for hours, fighting the torments with bare arms.

Every now and then I heard a stir among the females
above, indicating that some few were anticipating a
panic. Once they took a rush from the fourth story, and
cried they heard the cannon; twenty guns had been fired,
etc. I lay still, determined not to believe it; and presently
all subsided. I lay there for hours longer, it seemed, when
Nettie at last wandered in disconsolate to find if we were
asleep; for with the exception of Sophie, they, too, had
been awake all night. I went to the parlor with her, when
she, Dena, and I, decided to dress at once and sit on the
balcony, since sleep was hopeless. Behold me in a blue
muslin flounced to the waist, with a cape, too! What a
running costume! Miriam only had time to take off her
white dress before starting. All dressed, we went to the
northwest corner, as far as possible from the rest of the
household, and sat in a splendid breeze for hours. It was
better than fighting insatiable mosquitoes; so there we sat
talking through the greater part of a night which seemed
to have borrowed a few additional hours for our benefit.
We'll have no Leap Year in '64; the twenty-four

We discussed our favorite books, characters, authors,
repeated scraps here and there of the mock sentimental,
talked of how we would one day like to travel, and
where we would go; discussed love and marriage, and
came to the conclusion neither was the jest it was thought
to be. (O wise young women!) Poor Nettie retired in
despair, and we two watched alone for hours longer. The
sun must have been arrested by some Joshua on the
road; could n't make me believe it was doing its duty as
usual. We wandered around the balconies, through the
grounds in the dim starlight (for it was cloudy), and
finally, beholding a faint promise of morning, sat still and
waited for the coming of the lazy sun. What was still
more aggravating was that every time we looked in at the
others showed them sleeping peacefully. Miriam lay her
full length with outstretched arms, the picture of repose,
looking so comfortable! When the sun finally made his
appearance (he was out on a spree, I found, for his eyes
were not half opened, and he looked dull and heavy as
he peeped from behind his bed curtains), others began to
stir, and in an hour more, we were ready to leave. Those
who had slept, came out with swelled eyes and drowsy
looks; while we three, who had been up all night, were
perfectly calm, though rather pale; but I am seldom
otherwise.

I did not feel tired much, but somehow, when it struck
half-past six, and I found myself alone here (Miriam
having stopped at Mrs. Day's), I suddenly found myself
divested of my flounces, and most other articles, and
involuntarily going towards the bed. I could not sleep,
was n't thinking of such a thing; meant to - there was an
end of my soliloquy! Where I went, I don't know. As the
clock struck eight, I got up as unaccountably, and
discovered I had lost all idea of time in sleep. If it had not
been for the clock, I should have said I had slept a day
and a night, and it was now Thursday morning. A giant
refreshed, I rose from my slumbers, took a hasty cup of
coffee, and set to work packing Lilly's trunk, for I was
crazy to see the children off as soon as possible.

It was no short work, but we all hurried, said good-bye,
and saw them go with a feeling of relief. By the
experience of the night before, we knew that when the
real moment came it would be impossible to get them off
in time to escape danger. Poor Lilly! we miss her sadly;
but are thankful to know that she is out of danger with
her poor little children. She looked heartbroken at the
idea of leaving us alone; but then, when one weak
woman has five small babies to take care of, is it fair to
impose three big ones on her? I'd never stay here, if she
sacrificed her children to take care of us who need no
protection. I was very lazy after they left; and sat reading
until a note was brought from Charlie saying they were
safe beyond the lines.

Last night came another alarm. Some fifty cannon
were fired somewhere above, reports came that a body
of our troops were a few miles out, so a thousand of
these men took courage and went out to reconnoitre.
Mrs. Brunot and mother insisted on going again to the
Asylum for protection against the coming attack, though
we at first begged and pleaded to stay at home. But we
had to follow, and I don't think any of us were in the
best of humors, as we were all conscious of doing a
foolish thing.

We were cordially received again, and got quite gay.
Sleeping accommodations no better than before, as far
as I was concerned. Sophie, Miriam, and I had but one
bar between us, so we placed two mattresses side by
side, and by dint of chairs and strings, stretched the net
as far as possible over them. Those two were well
enough; but to my share fell a baby's mattress two feet
by four, placed between the wall and the other great
bed, with the end of the bar a foot above my face, and
one sheet to do the duty of two - however, they had
only one, also. Well! I believe I am tall, so my bed did
not fit me. As it was two inches higher than theirs, there
was no sharing. In spite of a heavy rain that was now
pouring, my warm place was intolerable, and the
perspiration streamed from my face so as to be
disagreeable, to say the least. It drove me to walk
in my sleep, I am afraid, for I have an indistinct
recollection of finding myself standing at the window
trying to breathe. It was a very, very little piece of

Up at sunrise again, but it took some time to get
ready, for I had to get some clothes out of the trunk, to
send home. Well, ever since I reached here I have been
writing, and I am ashamed to say how long it is. As the
time grows more exciting, my book grows shorter, to
my great distress. What will I do?

We all vowed that would be the last time we would
run until we heard the cannon, or had some better reason
than a Yankee panic to believe the Confederates were
coming; though if we listened to mother, she would go
there every night if this lasted for a whole year. Kind
Phillie Nolan wrote insisting on our staying with them on
the plantation until it was over, but we cannot do it; the
time is too uncertain; if we knew it was to come this
week, we might stay that long with her; but to go for an
indefinite period, Miriam and I would not hear of.

I have kept for the last a piece of news I received
with thankfulness, when I finally heard it; for, though
known to the whole family and all the town on Tuesday
night, no one thought it worth while to tell me until I
heard it by accident last evening. It was that a Mr. Bell,
writing to his wife, says Gibbes asked him to send word
to mother that he, George, and Jimmy were in the fight
of the 10th and 11th, and all safe. God be praised!

carriage and asked to see me. Such a sad, sick old
man! He said his name was Caldwell, and that passing
through East Feliciana, Mrs. Flynn had asked him to
deliver a message to us. Had we heard from our
brothers? I told him the message from Mr. Bell. He
commenced crying. There was one of them, he said,
who got hurt. I held my breath and looked at him. He
cried more still, and said yes, it was Gibbes - in the
hand - not dangerous - but - Here I thought he meant to
tell me worse; perhaps he was dead; but I could not speak,
so he went on saying Lydia and the General had gone on to
Richmond instantly, and had probably reached there
before today. He took so long to tell it, and he cried so,
that I was alarmed, until I thought perhaps he had lost
one of his own sons; but I dared not ask him. Just then
one of the horses fell down with sunstroke, and I begged
the old gentleman to come in and rest until they could
raise the horse; but he said no, he must go on to the river.
He looked so sick that I could not help saying he looked
too unwell to go beyond, and I wished he would come
in. But he burst into tears, saying, "Yes, my child, I am
very, very sick, but I must go on." Poor old man, with his
snowwhite beard!

July 27th.

I have my bird back! As I
waked this morning, I
heard a well-known chirp in the streets, and called
to mother I knew it was Jimmy. Sure enough it is
my bird. Lucy Daigre has had him ever since the

This town, with its ten
thousand soldiers, is more quiet
than it was with the old population of seven thousand
citizens. With this tremendous addition, it is like a
graveyard in its quiet, at times. These poor soldiers are
dying awfully. Thirteen went yesterday. On Sunday the
boats discharged hundreds of sick at our landing. Some
lay there all the afternoon in the hot sun, waiting for the
wagon to carry them to the hospital, which task occupied
the whole evening. In the mean time these poor wretches
lay uncovered on the ground, in every stage of sickness.
Cousin Will saw one lying dead without a creature by to
notice when he died. Another was dying, and muttering to
himself as he lay too far gone to brush the flies out of his
eyes and mouth, while no one was able to do it for him.
Cousin Will helped him, though. Another, a mere
skeleton, lay in the agonies of death, too; but he
evidently had kind friends, for several were gathered
around holding him up, and fanning him, while his
son leaned over him crying aloud. Tiche says it was
dreadful to hear the poor boy's sobs. All day our
vis-à-vis, Baumstark, with his several aids, plies his
hammer; all day Sunday he made coffins, and says he
can't make them fast enough. Think, too, he is by no means
the only undertaker here! Oh, I wish these poor men were
safe in their own land! It is heartbreaking to see them

die here like dogs, with no one to say Godspeed.
The Catholic priest went to see some, sometime ago,
and going near one who lay in bed, said some kind
thing, when the man burst into tears and cried,
"Thank God, I have heard one kind word before I
die!" In a few minutes the poor wretch was dead.

July 31st.

I believe I forgot to
mention one little circumstance in
my account of that first night at the Deaf and Dumb
Asylum, which at the time struck me with extreme
disgust. That was seeing more than one man who had no
females or babies to look after, who sought there a
refuge from the coming attack. At daylight, one dapper
young man, in fashionable array, came stepping lightly on
the gallery, carrying a neat carpet-bag in his hand. I
hardly think he expected to meet two young ladies at
that hour; I shall always believe he meant to creep away
before any one was up; for he certainly looked
embarrassed when we looked up, though he assumed an
air of indifference, and passed by bravely swinging his
sack - but I think he wanted us to believe he was not
ashamed. I dare say it was some little clerk in his holiday
attire; but I can't say what contempt I felt for the
creature.

Honestly, I believe the women of the South are as
brave as the men who are fighting, and certainly
braver than the "Home Guard." I have not yet been
able to coax myself into being as alarmed as many

I could name are. They say it is because I do not know the
danger. Soit. I prefer being brave through ignorance, to
being afraid in consequence of my knowledge of coming
events. Thank Heaven, my brothers are the bravest of the
brave! I would despise them if they shrunk back, though
Lucifer should dispute the path with them. Well! All men are
not Morgan boys! They tell me cowards actually exist,
though I hope I never met one. The poor men that went to
the Asylum for safety might not have what Lavinia calls "a
moral backbone." No wonder, then, they tumbled in there!
Besides, I am told half the town spent the night on the
banks of the river, on that occasion; and perhaps these
unfortunates were subject to colds, and preferred the shelter
of a good roof. Poor little fellows! How I longed to give
them my hoops, corsets, and pretty blue organdie in
exchange for their boots and breeches! Only I thought it was
dangerous; for suppose the boots had been so used to
running that they should prance off with me, too? Why, it
would ruin my reputation! Miss Morgan in petticoats is
thought to be "as brave as any other man"; but these borrowed
articles might make her fly as fast "as any other man," too, if
panic is contagious, as the Yankees here have proved. One
consolation is, that all who could go with any propriety, and
all who were worthy of fighting, among those who believed
in the South, are off at the seat of war; it is only trash, and
those who are obliged to remain for private reasons, who

still remain. Let us count those young individuals as
trash, and step over them. Only ask Heaven why you
were made with a man's heart, and a female form, and
those creatures with beards were made as bewitchingly
nervous?

August 2d, Saturday.

I had thought my running
days were over; so little did I
anticipate another stampede that I did not notice the
report of the attack that was prophesied for night before
last, and went to bed without gathering my clothes. But
to-day comes a hasty note from Charlie, telling us to
leave instantly as General Breckinridge is advancing with
ten thousand men to attack us, and at 12 M. yesterday
was within thirty-four miles. He begged us to leave
to-day; there would be trouble before to-morrow night. It
was so earnest, and he asserted all so positively, that we
are going to Phillie's this evening to stay a week, as they
say eight days will decide. Ah, me! our beautiful town!
Still I am skeptical. If it must be, pray Heaven that the
blow comes now! Nothing can be equal to suspense.
These poor men! Are they not dying fast enough? Will
Baumstark have orders for an unlimited supply of coffins
next week? Only Charlie's family, ours, and the Brunots
know it. He enjoined the strictest secrecy, though the
Brunots sent to swear Mrs. Loucks in, as she, like
ourselves, has no protector. I would like to tell everybody;
but it will warn the Federals. I almost wish we, too,
had been left in ignorance; it is cruel to keep it to

Our cavalry has passed the Amite. Poor Charlie
has come all the way to the ferry landing on the other
side to warn us. If we do not take advantage, it
will not be for want of knowing what is to come.
How considerate it was in him to come such a long
way! I am charmingly excited! If I only had a pair
of breeches, my happiness would be complete. Let
it come! I lose all, but in Heaven's name let us have
it over at once! My heart fails when I look around,
but "Spit fire!" and have an end to this at once!
Liberty forever, though death be the penalty.

Treason! Here lies my pass at my elbow, in which
has been gratuitously inserted that "Parties holding
it are considered to give their parole not to give
information, countenance, aid, or support to the
so-called Confed. S." As I did not apply for it, agree
to the stipulation, or think it by any means proper,
I don't consider it binding. I could not give my word
for doing what my conscience tells me is Right. I
cross with this book full of treason. It "countenances"
the C. S.; shall I burn it? That is a stupid ruse; they
are too wise to ask you to subscribe to it,
they just append it.

August 3d, WESTOVER.

Enfin nous sommes
arrivées! And after what a
trip! As we reached the ferry, I discovered I had lost

the pass, and had to walk back and search for it,
aided by Mr. Tunnard, who met me in my distress,
as it has always been his luck to do. But somebody
had already adopted the valuable trifle, so I had to
rejoin mother and Miriam without it. The guard
resolutely refused to let us pass until we got another,
so off flew Mr. Tunnard to procure a second - which
was vastly agreeable, as I knew he would have to
pay twenty-five cents for it, Yankees having come
down as low as that, to procure money. But he had
gone before we could say anything, and soon returned
with the two-bits' worth of leave of absence. Then
we crossed the river in a little skiff after sundown, in
a most unpleasant state of uncertainty as to whether
the carriage was waiting at the landing for us, for I
did not know if Phillie had received my note, and
there was no place to go if she had not sent for us.
However, we found it waiting, and leaving mother
and Miriam to pay the ferry, I walked on to put our
bundles in the carriage. A man stepped forward,
calling me by name and giving me a note from
Charlie before I reached it; and as I placed my foot
on the step, another came up and told me he had left
a letter at home for me at one o'clock. I bowed Yes
(it was from Howell; must answer to-morrow). He
asked me not to mention it was "him"; a little
servant had asked his name, but he told her it was none
of her business. I laughed at the refined remark, and
said I had not known who it was - he would hardly
have been flattered to hear I had not even inquired.

He modestly said that he was afraid I had seen him
through the window. Oh, no! I assured him. "Well,
please, anyhow, don't say it's me!" he pleaded most
grammatically. I answered, smiling, "I did not know
who it was then, I know no more now, and if you
choose, I shall always remain in ignorance of your
identity." He burst out laughing, and went off with,
"Oh, do, Miss Morgan, forget all about me!" as
though it was a difficult matter! Who can he be?

We had a delightful drive in the moonlight,
though it was rather long; and it was quite late when
we drove up to the house, and were most cordially
welcomed by the family. We sat up late on the balcony
listening for the report of cannon, which, however,
did not come. Baton Rouge is to be attacked
to-morrow, "they say." Pray Heaven it will all be
over by that time! Nobody seems to doubt it, over
here. A while ago a long procession of guerrillas
passed a short distance from the house, looking for a
party of Yankees they heard of in the neighborhood,
and waved their hats, for lack of handkerchiefs, to
us as we stood on the balcony.

I call this writing under difficulties! Here I am
employing my knee as a desk, a position that is not very
natural to me, and by no means comfortable. I feel
so stupid, from want of sleep last night, that no
wonder I am not even respectably bright. I think I shall
lay aside this diary with my pen. I have procured
a nicer one, so I no longer regret its close. What a
stupid thing it is! As I look back, how faintly have

I expressed things that produced the greatest
impression on me at the time, and how completely have
I omitted the very things I should have recorded!
Bah! it is all the same trash! And here is an end of
it - for this volume, whose stupidity can only be
equaled by the one that precedes, and the one that
is to follow it. But who expects to be interesting in
war times? If I kept a diary of events, it would be
one tissue of lies. Think! There was no battle on
the 10th or 11th, McClellan is not dead, and Gibbes
was never wounded! After that, who believes in
reliable information? Not I!

BOOK III

Monday, August 4th, 1862.

HERE we are at Dr.
Nolan's plantation, with Baton
Rouge lying just seven miles from us to the east. We
can surely hear the cannon from here. They are all
so kind to us that I ought to be contented; but still
I wish I was once more at home. I suppose it is very
unreasonable in me, but I cannot help it. I miss my
old desk very much; it is so awkward to write on my
knee that I cannot get used to it. Mine is a nice
little room upstairs, detached from all the rest, for
it is formed by a large dormer window looking to
the north, from which I have seen a large number of
guerrillas passing and repassing in their rough
costumes, constantly. I enjoy the fresh air, and all
that, but pleasant as it is, I wish I was at home and
all the fuss was over. Virginia Nolan and Miriam
are already equipped in their riding costumes, so I
must lay this down and get ready to join them in a
scamper across the fields. How delighted I will be
to get on a horse again.

August 5th.

About half-past nine, as
we got up from the breakfast
table, a guerrilla told us the ram Arkansas was
lying a few miles below, on her way to coöperate
with Breckinridge, whose advance guard had already

driven the pickets into Baton Rouge. Then we all
grew wild with excitement.

Such exclamations! such delight that the dreadful
moment had at last arrived! And yet you could
see each stop as we rejoiced, to offer up a prayer for
the preservation of those who were risking their
lives at that moment. Reason, and all else, was
thrown aside, and we determined to participate in
the danger, if there was any to be incurred. Mother
threatened us with shot and shell and bloody murder,
but the loud report of half a dozen cannon in slow
succession only made us more determined to see the
fun, so Lilly Nolan and Miss Walters got on horseback,
and Phillie, Ginnie, Miriam, and I started off
in the broiling sun, leaving word for the carriage to
overtake us. When we once got in, the driver, being
as crazy as we, fairly made his horses run along the
road to catch a glimpse of our Ram. When, miles
below, she came in sight, we could no longer remain
in the carriage, but mounted the levee, and ran along
on foot until we reached her, when we crossed to
the outer levee, and there she lay at our feet.

And nothing in her after all! There lay a heavy,
clumsy, rusty, ugly flatboat with a great square box
in the centre, while great cannon put their noses out
at the sides, and in front. The decks were crowded
with men, rough and dirty, jabbering and hastily
eating their breakfast. That was the great Arkansas!
God bless and protect her, and the brave men she
carries.

While there, a young man came up, and in answer
to Phillie's inquiries about her father - who, having
gone to town yesterday to report, being paroled,
had written last night to say no passes were granted
to leave town - the young fellow informed her so
pleasantly that her father was a prisoner, held as
hostage for Mr. Castle. Poor Phillie had to cry; so,
to be still more agreeable, he told her, Yes, he had
been sent to a boat lying at the landing, and ran the
greatest risk, as the ram would probably sink the said
boat in a few hours. How I hated the fool for his
relish of evil tidings!

But never mind our wild expedition, or what came
of it. Am I not patient! Ever since I commenced to
write, the sound of a furious bombardment has been
ringing in my ears; and beyond an occasional run to
see the shells fly through the air (their white smoke,
rather) I have not said a word of it. The girls have
all crowded on the little balcony up here, towards
town, and their shrieks of "There it goes!" "Listen!"
"Look at them!" rise above the sound of the
cannon, and occasionally draw me out, too. But I sit
here listening, and wonder which report precedes the
knocking down of our home; which shell is killing
some one I know and love. Poor Tiche and Dophy!
- where are they? And oh, I hope they did not leave
my birdie Jimmy to die in his cage. I charged them
to let him loose if they could not carry him. Dophy
will be so frightened. I hope they are out of danger.
Oh, my dear home! shall I ever see you again? And

the Brunots! Oh, how I hope they are safe. These
loud cannon make me heartsick, and yet I am so
excited! How rapidly they answer each other! I am
told the attack commenced at five this morning,
and lasted three hours. Those girls are shouting that
Baton Rouge must be on fire, from the volume of
smoke in that direction. How they scream as the
balls go up, to show it to each other. I think I'll
take a look, too.

We are all going four or five miles through this
warm sun to be nearer the scene of action. Any one
might know there was no white man on the premises.
There is the carriage! Oh, I am so seasick! What will
I be before we get back?

August 6th.

We six madcaps got in the
carriage and buggy, and
rode off in search of news. We took a quantity of old
linen rags along, and during the whole drive, our
fingers were busy making lint. Once we stopped at a
neighbor's to gather the news, but that did not
interfere with our labors at all. Four miles from here
we met a crowd of women flying, and among them
recognized Mrs. La Noue and Noémie. A good deal
of loud shouting brought them to the carriage in
great surprise to see us there. They were running
from the plantation where they had taken refuge, as
it was not safe from the shells, as the gunboats had
proved to them. The reports we had heard in the
morning were from shots fired on this side of the river

by them, in hopes of hurting a guerrilla or two.
Noémie told us that two Western regiments had laid
down their arms, and General Williams had been
killed by his own men. She looked so delighted, and
yet it made me sick to think of his having been
butchered so. Phillie leaned out, and asked her, as
she asked everybody, if she knew anything about her
father. Noémie, in her rapture over that poor man's
death, exclaimed, "Don't know a word about him!
know Williams was cut to pieces, though!" - and
that is all we could learn from her.

We went on until we came in sight of Baton Rouge.
There it stood, looking so beautiful against the black,
lowering sky that I could not but regret its fate. We
could see the Garrison, State House, Asylum, and all
that; but the object of the greatest interest to me was
the steeple of the Methodist church, for to the right
of it lay home. While looking at it, a negro passed
who was riding up and down the coast collecting lint,
so I gave him all we had made, and commenced some
more. Presently, we met Mr. Phillips, to whom
Phillie put the same question. "He is on the Laurel
Hill a prisoner - Confound that negro! where did
he go?" And so on, each answer as far as concerned
her, seeming a labor, but the part relating to the
servant very hearty. Poor Phillie complained that
everybody was selfish - thought only of their own
affairs, and did not sympathize with her. "Yes,
my dear," I silently assented; for it was very true;
every one seemed to think of their own interests

alone. It was late before we got home, and then
we had great fun in watching shells which we could
dimly trace against the clouds, falling in what must
have been the Garrison. Then came a tremendous
fire, above, which may have been a boat - I don't
know.

I hear a tremendous firing again, and from the
two volumes of smoke, should judge it was the
Arkansas and the Essex trying their strength at a
distance. We are going down to see what's the fun. It
would be absurd to record all the rumors that have
reached us, since we can rely on none. They say we
fought up to nine last night, and occupied the Garrison
for five minutes, when the shells forced us to
abandon it. Also that four regiments laid down their
arms, that the Federals were pursued by our men
to the river, driven to the gunboats, and pushed off
to prevent the Western men from coming aboard.
An eye-witness, from this side, reports that General
Williams, "they say," was forcibly held before a
cannon and blown to pieces. For the sake of humanity,
I hope this is false.

Oh, what a sad day this is for our country! Mother
disapproved so of our going to the levee to see the
fight, that we consented to remain, though Miriam
and Ginnie jumped into the buggy and went off
alone. Presently came tidings that all the planters
near Baton Rouge were removing their families
and negroes, and that the Yankees were to shell the
whole coast, from there up to here. Then Phillie,

Page 150

Lilly (Nolan), and I jumped in - the carriage that
was still waiting, and ran after the others to bring
them back before they got in danger; but when we
reached the end of the long lane, we saw them standing
on the high levee, wringing their hands and crying.
We sprang out and joined them, and there, way at
the bend, lay the Arkansas on fire! All except myself
burst into tears and lamentations, and prayed aloud
between their sobs. I had no words or tears; I could
only look at our sole hope burning, going, and pray
silently. Oh, it was so sad! Think, it was our sole
dependence! And we five girls looked at her as the
smoke rolled over her, watched the flames burst
from her decks, and the shells as they exploded one
by one beneath the water, coming up in jets of
steam. And we watched until down the road we saw
crowds of men toiling along toward us. Then we knew
they were those who had escaped, and the girls sent
up a shriek of pity.

On they came, dirty, half-dressed, some with only
their guns, others, a few, with bundles and knapsacks
on their backs, grimy and tired, but still laughing.
We called to the first, and asked if the boat
were really afire; they shouted, "Yes," and went on,
talking still. Presently one ran up and told us the
story. How yesterday their engine had broken, and
how they had labored all day to repair it; how they
had succeeded, and had sat by their guns all night;
and this morning, as they started to meet the Essex,
the other engine had broken; how each officer wrote

his opinion that it was impossible to fight her with any
hope of success under such circumstances, and
advised the Captain to abandon her; how they had
resolved to do so, had exchanged shots with the Essex
across the point, and the first of the latter (only one,
also) had set ours afire, when the men were ordered
to take their side arms. They thought it was to board
the Essex, assembled together, when the order was
given to fire the Arkansas and go ashore, which was
done in a few minutes. Several of the crew were
around us then, and up and down the road they were
scattered still in crowds.

Miriam must have asked the name of some of the
officers; for just then she called to me, "He says that
is Mr. Read!" I looked at the foot of the levee, and
saw two walking together. I hardly recognized the
gentleman I was introduced to on the McRae in the
one that now stood below me in rough sailor pants, a
pair of boots, and a very thin and slazy lisle undershirt.
That is all he had on, except an old straw hat,
and - yes! he held a primer! I did not think it
would be embarrassing to him to meet me under
such circumstances; I only thought of Jimmy's
friend as escaping from a sad fate; so I rushed down
a levee twenty feet high, saying, "O Mr. Read!
You won't recognize me, but I am Jimmy's sister!"
He blushed modestly, shook my hand as though we
were old friends, and assured me he remembered
me, was glad to meet me, etc. Then Miriam came
down and talked to him, and then we went to the

top of the levee where the rest were, and watched
the poor Arkansas burn.

By that time the crowd that had gone up the road
came back, and we found ourselves in the centre of
two hundred men, just we five girls, talking with the
officers around us as though they were old friends.
You could only guess they were officers, for a dirtier,
more forlorn set I never saw. Not dirty either; they
looked clean, considering the work they had been
doing. Nobody introduced anybody else; we all
felt like brothers and sisters in our common calamity.
There was one handsome Kentuckian, whose name I
soon found to be Talbot, who looked charmingly
picturesque in his coarse cottonade pants, white shirt,
straw hat, black hair, beard, and eyes, with rosy
cheeks. He was a graduate of the Naval Academy
some years ago. Then another jolly-faced young
man from the same Academy, pleased me, too. He,
the doctor, and the Captain, were the only ones who
possessed a coat in the whole crowd, the few who
saved theirs carrying them over their arms. Mr. Read
more than once blushingly remarked that they were
prepared to fight, and hardly expected to meet us;
but we pretended to think there was nothing unusual
in his dress. I can understand, though, that he
should feel rather awkward; I would not like to
meet him, if I was in the same costume.

They all talked over their loss cheerfully, as far
as the loss of money, watches, clothes, were concerned;
but they were disheartened about their boat.

One threw himself down near my feet, saying, "Me
voilà. I have saved my gun, et puis the clothes that
I stand in!" and laughed as though it were an excellent
joke. One who had been on the Merrimac
chiefly regretted the loss of the commission appointing
him there, though he had not saved a single
article. The one with the jolly face told me Will
Pinckney was among those attacking Baton Rouge,
and assured him he expected to take supper there last
night. He thought it would be with us, I know! I
hope he is safe!

After a while the men were ordered to march up
the lane, to some resting spot it is best not to mention
here, and straggled off; but there were many
sick among them, one wounded at Vicksburg, and
we instantly voted to walk the mile and three quarters
home, and give them the carriage and buggy. But
long after they left, we stood with our new friends
on the levee watching the last of the Arkansas, and
saw the Essex, and two gunboats crowded with men,
cautiously turn the point, and watch her burn. What
made me furious was the thought of the glowing
accounts they would give of their "capture of
the Arkansas! ! !" Capture, and they fired a shot
apiece! - for all the firing we heard was the discharge
of her guns by the flames. We saw them go
back as cautiously, and I was furious, knowing the
accounts they would publish of what we ourselves
had destroyed. We had seen many shells explode,
and one magazine, and would have waited for the

other, if the clouds had not threatened rain speedily.
But we had to leave her a mere wreck, still burning,
and started off on our long walk.

In our hurry, I had brought neither handkerchief
nor gloves, but hardly missed either, I was so excited.
Mr. Talbot walked home with me, and each of the
others with some one else. He had a small bundle
and a sword, and the latter I insisted on carrying.
It was something, to shoulder a sword made for use
rather than for ornament! So I would carry it. He
said "he would remember who had carried it, and
the recollection would give it a new value in his eyes,
and I might rest assured it should never be disgraced
after that," and all that sort of thing, of course, as
it is usual to say it on such occasions. But I shouldered
the sword bravely, determined to show my
appreciation of the sacrifice they had made for us,
in coming to our rescue on a boat they had every
reason to believe was unsafe. I liked Mr. Talbot!
He made himself very agreeable in that long walk
He asked permission to send me a trophy from the
first action in which he used "that" sword, and
did n't I say yes! He thought Southern men had
every encouragement in the world, from the fact
that the ladies welcomed them with great kindness
in victory or defeat, insinuating he thought they
hardly deserved our compassion after their failure
on the Arkansas. But I stoutly denied that it was
a failure. Had they not done their best? Was it their
fault the machinery broke? And in defeat or victory,

were they not still fighting for us? Were we the
less grateful when they met with reverse? Oh,
did n't I laud the Southern men with my whole
heart! - and I think he felt better for it, too! Yes!
I like him!

We all met at the steps, and water was given to
our cavaliers, who certainly enjoyed it. We could
not ask them in, as Dr. Nolan is on his parole; but
Phillie intimated that if they chose to order, they
might do as they pleased, as women could not resist
armed men! So they took possession of the sugar-house,
and helped themselves to something to eat, and were
welcome to do it, since no one could prevent!
But they first stood talking on the balcony,
gayly, and we parted with many warm wishes on both
sides, insisting that, if they assisted at a second attack
on Baton Rouge, they must remember our house
was at their service, wounded or in health. And they
all shook hands with us, and looked pleased, and
said "God bless you," and "Good-bye."

Evening.

I heard a while ago, the
doctor of the Ram, who
brought back the buggy, say the Arkansas's crew
were about leaving; so remembering poor Mr. Read
had lost everything, mother, suggesting he might
need money, gave me twenty dollars to put in his
hands, as some slight help towards reaching his
destination. Besides, coming from Jimmy's mother,
he could not have been hurt. But when I got down,

he was far up the lane, walking too fast for me to
overtake him; then I tried to catch Mr. Stephenson
to give it to him for me, but failed. Presently, we
saw I am afraid to say how many wagons loaded with
them, coming from the sugar-house; so Phillie,
Lilly, and I snatched up some five bottles of gin,
between us, and ran out to give it to them. A rough
old sailor received mine with a flood of thanks, and
the others gave theirs to those behind. An officer
rode up saying, "Ladies, there is no help for it!
The Yankee cavalry are after us, and we must fight
them in the corn. Take care of yourselves!" We
shouted "Yes!" told them to bring in the wounded
and we would nurse them. Then the men cried
"God bless you," and we cried, "Hurrah for the
Arkansas's crew," and "Fight for us!" Altogether
it was a most affecting scene. Phillie, seeing how
poorly armed they were, suggested a gun, which I
flew after and delivered to a rough old tar. When I
got out, the cart then passing held Mr. Talbot,
who smiled benignly and waved his hat like the rest.
He looked still better in his black coat, but the carts
reminded me of what the guillotine days must have
been in France. He shouted "Good-bye," we shouted
"Come to us, if you are wounded"; he smiled and
bowed, and I cried, "Use that sword!" - whereupon
he sprang to his feet and grasped the hilt as
though about to commence. Then came other
officers; Mr. Scales, Mr. Barblaud, etc., who smiled
recognition, stopped the wagon as Phillie handed up

a plate of bread and meat, and talked gayly as they
divided it, until the Captain rode up. "On, gentlemen!
not a moment to lose!" Then the cart started
off, the empty plate was flung overboard, and they
rode off waving hats and crying, "God bless you,
ladies!" in answer to our repeated offers of taking
care of them if they were hurt. And they have gone
to meet the Yankees, and I hope they won't, for they
have worked enough today, and from my heart I
pray God prosper those brave men!

August 7th.

Last night, shortly after
we got in bed, we were
roused by loud cannonading towards Baton Rouge,
and running out on the small balcony up here, saw
the light of a great fire in that direction. From the
constant reports, and the explosion of what seemed
to be several powder magazines, we imagined it to
be either the Garrison or a gunboat. Whatever it
was, it was certainly a great fire. We all ran out in
our nightgowns, and watched for an hour in the
damp air, I without even shoes. We listened to the
fight a long while, until the sound ceased, and we
went back to bed.

Evening.

I am so disheartened! I
have been listening with
the others to a man who was telling us about Baton
Rouge, until I am heartsick. He says the Yankees have
been largely reinforced, and are prepared for another
attack which will probably take place to-morrow;
that the fight was a dreadful one, we driving

them in, and losing twelve hundred, to their
fifteen hundred. It must have been awful! And that
our troops have resolved to burn the town down
since they cannot hold it under the fire of the
gunboats.

August 8th, Friday.

Again last night, about
nine, we heard cannon in
Baton Rouge, and watched the flashes, which preceded
the reports by a minute, at least, for a long time. We
must have seen our own firing; perhaps we wanted
to find out the batteries of the enemy. It was not
the most delightful thing imaginable to watch what
might be the downfall of our only home! And then
to think each ball might bring death to some one we
love! Ah, no! it was not pleasant!

Miriam and I have many friends in Breckinridge's
division, I expect, if we could only hear the names
of the regiments. The Fourth is certainly there
And poor Will! I wonder if he has had his supper
yet? I have been thinking of him ever since Mr.
Scales told me he was there, and praying myself sick
for his safety and that of the rest. I shut my eyes
at every report and say, "Oh, please! poor Will! -
and the others, too!" And when I don't hear the
cannon, I pray, to be in advance of the next.

It is now midday, and again we hear firing; but
have yet to learn the true story of the first day's
fight. Preserve me from the country in such stirring
days! We might as well be in Europe as to have
the Mississippi between us and town.

By unanimous consent, the little lane in front of
the house has been christened "Guerrilla Lane," and
the long one leading to the river, "Arkansas." What
an episode that was, in our lives! The officers go by
the name of Miriam's, Ginnie's, Sarah's, as though
they belonged to each!

Those girls did me the meanest thing imaginable.
Mr. Talbot and I were planning a grand combined
attack on Baton Rouge, in which he was to command
a fleet and attack the town by the river, while I
promised to get up a battalion of girls and attack
them in the rear. We had settled it all, except the
time, when just then all the others stopped talking.
I went on: "And now, it is only necessary for you
to name the day -" Here the girls commenced to
giggle, and the young men tried to suppress a smile;
I felt annoyed, but it did not strike me until after
they had left, that I had said anything absurd. What
evil imaginations they must have, if they could have
fancied I meant anything except the battle!

August 9th.

To our great surprise,
Charlie came in this morning
from the other side. He was in the battle, and
General Carter, and dozens of others that we did not
think of. See the mountain reduced to a mole-hill!
He says, though the fight was desperate, we lost
only eighty-five killed, and less than a hundred and
fifty wounded! And we had only twenty-five hundred
against the Yankees' four thousand five hundred.

There is no truth in our having held the Garrison
even for a moment, though we drove them down
to the river in a panic. The majority ran like fine
fellows, but a Maine regiment fought like devils.
He says Will and Thompson Bird set fire to the
Yankee camp with the greatest alacrity, as though
it were rare fun. General Williams was killed as he
passed Piper's, by a shot from a window, supposed to
have been fired by a citizen. Some one from town told
him that the Federals were breaking in the houses,
destroying the furniture, and tearing the clothes
of the women and children in shreds, like maniacs.
O my home! I wonder if they have entered ours?
What a jolly time they would have over all the
letters I left in my desk! Butler has ordered them
to burn Baton Rouge if forced to evacuate it. Looks
as though he was not so sure of holding it.

Miss Turner told Miriam that her mother
attempted to enter town after the fight to save some
things, when the gallant Colonel Dudley put a pistol
to her head, called her an old she-devil, and told her
he would blow her d- brains out if she moved a
step; that anyhow, none but we d- women had
put the men up to fighting, and we were the ones
who were to blame for the fuss. There is no name
he did not call us.

August 10th, Sunday.

Is this really Sunday?
Never felt less pious, or
less seriously disposed! Listen to my story, and
though I will, of course, fall far short of the actual

terror that reigned, yet it will show it in a lukewarm
light, that can at least recall the excitement to me.

To begin, then, last evening, about six o'clock, as
we sat reading, sewing, and making lint in the
parlor, we heard a tremendous shell whizzing past,
which those who watched, said passed not five feet
above the house. Of course, there was a slight stir
among the unsophisticated; though we, who had
passed through bombardments, sieges, and alarms
of all kinds, coolly remarked, "a shell," and kept
quiet. (The latter class was not very numerous.)
It was from one of the three Yankee boats that lay
in the river close by (the Essex and two gunboats),
which were sweeping teams, provisions, and
negroes from all the plantations they stopped at from
Baton Rouge up. The negroes, it is stated, are to
be armed against us as in town, where all those who
manned the cannon on Tuesday were, for the most
part, killed; and served them right! Another shell
was fired at a carriage containing Mrs. Durald and
several children, under pretense of discovering if she
was a guerrilla, doubtless. Fortunately, she was
not hurt, however.

By the time the little émeute had subsided, determined
to have a frolic, Miss Walters, Ginnie, and I
got on our horses, and rode off down the Arkansas
Lane, to have a gallop and a peep at the gunboats
from the levee. But mother's entreaties prevented
us from going that near, as she cried that it was
well known they fired at every horse or vehicle they

saw in the road, seeing a thousand guerrillas in every
puff of dust, and we were sure to be killed, murdered,
and all sorts of bloody deaths awaited us; so to
satisfy her, we took the road about a mile from the
river, in full view, however. We had not gone very
far before we met a Mr. Watson, a plain farmer of
the neighborhood, who begged us to go back.
"You'll be fired on, ladies, sure! You don't know
the danger! Take my advice and go home as quick
as possible before they shell you! They shot buggies
and carriages, and of course they won't mind horses
with women! Please go home!" But Ginnie, who
had taken a fancy to go on, acted as spokeswoman,
and determined to go on in spite of his advice, so,
nothing loath to follow her example, we thanked him,
and rode on. Another met us; looked doubtful, said
it was not so dangerous if the Yankees did not see the
dust; but if they did, we would be pretty apt to see
a shell soon after. Here was frolic! So we rode on
some mile or two beyond, but failing to see anything
startling, turned back again.

About two miles from here, we met Mr. Watson
coming at full speed. The ladies, he said, had sent
him after us in all haste; there was a report that the
whole coast was to be shelled; a lady had passed,
flying with her children; the carriage was ordered
out; they were only waiting for us, to run, too. We
did not believe a word of it, and were indignant at
their credulity, as well as determined to persuade
them to remain where they were, if possible. When

told their plan was to run to the house formerly used
as a guerrilla camp, we laughed heartily. Suppose
the Yankees fired a shell into it to discover its
inhabitants? The idea of choosing a spot so well
known! And what fun in running to a miserable
hole, when we might sleep comfortably here? I am
afraid rebellion was in the air. Indeed, an impudent
little negro, who threw open the gate for us,
interrupted Ginnie in the midst of a tirade with a
sly "Here's the beginning of a little fuss!"

We found them all crazy with fear. I did not say
much; I was too provoked to trust myself to argue
with so many frightened women. I only said I saw
no necessity. Ginnie resisted; but finally succumbed.
Mr. Watson, whom we had enlisted on our side also,
said it was by no means necessary, but if we were
determined, we might go to his house, about four
miles away, and stay there. It was very small, but we
were welcome. We had in the mean time thrown off
our riding-skirts, and stood just in our plain dresses,
though the others were freshly dressed for an exodus.
Before the man left, the carriage came, though by
that time we had drawn half the party on our side; we
said we would take supper, and decide after, so he
went off.

In a few moments a rocket went up from one of the
boats, which attracted our attention. Five minutes
after, we saw a flash directly before us. "See it?
Lightning, I expect," said Phillie. The others all
agreed; but I kept quiet, knowing that some, at

least, knew what it was as well as I, and determined
not to give the alarm - for I was beginning to feel
foolish. Before half a minute more came a tearing,
hissing sound, a sky-rocket whose music I had heard
before. Instantly I remembered my running-bag,
and flew upstairs to get it, escaping just in time
from the scene which followed on the gallery
which was afterwards most humorously described
to me. But I was out of hearing of the screams of
each (and yet I must have heard them); neither
saw Miss Walters tumble against the wall, nor
mother turn over her chair, nor the general mêlée
that followed, in which Mrs. Walters, trying to scale
the carriage, was pulled out by Uncle Will, who
shouted to his plunging horses first, then to the other
unreasoning creatures, "Woa, there! 'T ain't safe!
Take to the fields! Take to the woods! Run to the
sugar-house! Take to your heels!" in a frenzy of
excitement.

I escaped all that, and was putting on my hoops
and hastily catching up any article that presented
itself to me in my speed, when the shell burst over
the roof, and went rolling down on the gallery,
according to the account of those then below. Two
went far over the house, out of sight. All three were
seen by Mr. Watson, who came galloping up in a
few moments, crying, "Ladies, for God's sake, leave
the house!" Then I heard mother calling, "Sarah!
You will be killed! Leave your clothes and run!" -
and a hundred ejaculations that came too fast for

me to answer except by an occasional "Coming, if
you will send me a candle!" Candle was the same as
though I had demanded a hand-grenade, in mother's
opinion, for she was sure it would be the signal for a
bombardment of my exposed room; so I tossed down
my bundles, swept combs and hairpins into my bosom
(all points up), and ravished a candle from some one.
How quickly I got on, then! I saved the most useless
of articles with the greatest zeal, and probably
left the most serviceable ones. One single dress did
my running-bag contain - a white linen cambric
with a tiny pink flower - the one I wore when I told
Hal good-bye for the last time. The others I left.

When I got down with my knapsack, mother,
Phillie, and Mrs. Walters were -

AT RANDALLSON'S LANDING, August 11th.

I don't mean those ladies
were, but that I am at
present. I'll account for it after I have disposed of
the stampede. Imagine no interruption, and
continue - in the carriage urging Uncle Will to hurry
on, and I had hardly time to thrust my sack under
their feet before they were off. Lilly and Miss Walters
were already in the buggy, leaving Ginnie and
me to follow on horseback. I ran up after my
riding-skirt, which I was surprised to find behind a
trunk, and rolled up in it was my running-bag, with
all my treasures! I was very much provoked at my
carelessness; indeed, I cannot imagine how it got
there, for it was the first thing I thought of. When I got

back, there was no one to be seen except Ginnie
and two negroes who held our horses, and who
disappeared the instant we were mounted; with the
exception of two women who were running to the
woods, we were the only ones on the lot, until Mr.
Watson galloped up to urge us on. Again I had to
notice this peculiarity about women - that the married
ones are invariably the first to fly, in time of danger,
and always leave the young ones to take care of
themselves. Here were our three matrons, prophesying
that the house would be burnt, the Yankees upon
us, and all murdered in ten minutes, flying down
the Guerrilla Lane, and leaving us to encounter the
horrors they foretold, alone.

It was a splendid gallop in the bright moonlight
over the fields, only it was made uncomfortable by the
jerking of my running-bag, until I happily thought
of turning it before. A hard ride of four miles in
about twenty minutes brought us to the house of the
man who so kindly offered his hospitality. It was a
little hut, about as large as our parlor, and already
crowded to overflowing, as he was entertaining
three families from Baton Rouge. Can't imagine
where he put them, either. But it seems to me the
poorer the man, and the smaller the house, the greater
the hospitality you meet with. There were so many
of us that there was not room on the balcony to turn.
The man wanted to prepare supper, but we declined
as Phillie had sent back for ours which we had missed.

take in the horrible. A Mr. Hill, speaking of Dr.
Nolan, told Phillie "he had no doubt he had been
sent to New Orleans on the Whiteman, that carried
General Williams's body; and that every soul had
gone down on her." Fortunately, just then the
overseer brought a letter from him saying he had
gone on another boat, or the man's relish of the
distressing might have been gratified.

It was so crowded there that we soon suggested
going a short distance beyond, to Mr. Lobdell's,
and staying there for the night, as all strenuously
objected to our returning home, as there was danger
from prowling Yankees. So we mounted again, and
after a short ride we reached the house, where all
were evidently asleep. But necessity knows no rules;
and the driver soon aroused an old gentleman who
came out and invited us in. A middle-aged lady met
us, and made us perfectly at home by leaving us to
take care of ourselves; most people would have
thought it indifference; but I knew it was manque
de savoir faire, merely, and preferred doing as I
pleased. If she had been officious, I would have been
embarrassed. So we walked in the moonlight, Ginnie
and I, while the rest sat in the shade, and all discussed
the fun of the evening, those who had been most
alarmed laughing loudest. The old gentleman insisted
that we girls had been the cause of it all; that
our white bodies (I wore a Russian shirt) and black
skirts could easily have caused us to be mistaken for
men. That, at all events, three or four people on

horseback would be a sufficient pretext for firing
a shell or two. "In short, young ladies," he said
"there is no doubt in my mind that you were mistaken
for guerrillas, and that they only wanted to
give you time to reach the woods where they heard
they have a camp, before shooting at you. In short
take my advice and never mount a horse again when
there is a Yankee in sight." We were highly gratified
at being mistaken for them, and pretended to
believe it was true. I hardly think he was right
though; it is too preposterous.

Pourtant, Sunday morning the Yankees told a negro
they did not mean to touch the house, but were
shooting at some guerrillas at a camp just beyond
We know the last guerrilla left the parish five days ago.

Our host insisted on giving us supper, though
Phillie represented that ours was on the road; and by
eleven o'clock, tired alike of moonlight and fasting
we gladly accepted, and rapidly made the preserves
and batter-cakes fly. Ours was a garret room, well
finished, abounding in odd closets and corners, with
curious dormer windows that were reached by long
little corridors. I should have slept well; but I lay
awake all night. Mother and I occupied a narrow
single bed, with a bar of the thickest, heaviest
material imaginable. Suffocation awaited me
inside, gnats and mosquitoes outside. In order to
be strictly impartial, I lay awake to divide my time
equally between the two attractions, and think I
succeeded pretty well. So I spent the night on the

extreme edge of the bed, never turning over, but
fanning mother constantly. I was not sorry when
daybreak appeared, but dressed and ascended the
observatory to get a breath of air.

Below me, I beheld four wagons loaded with the
young Mrs. Lobdell's baggage. The Yankees had
visited them in the evening, swept off everything
they could lay their hands on, and with a sick child
she was obliged to leave her house in the night and
fly to her father-in-law. I wondered at their allowing
her four wagons of trunks and bundles; it was very
kind. If I were a Federal, I think it would kill me
to hear the whisper of "Hide the silver" wherever
I came. Their having frequently relieved families
of such trifles, along with negroes, teams, etc., has
put others on their guard now. As I sat in the parlor
in the early morning, Mrs. Walters en blouse volante
and all échevelée, came in to tell me of Mr. Lobdell's
misfortunes. "They took his negroes [right hand
up]; his teams [left hand up]; his preserves [both
hands clutching her hair]; they swept off everything,
except four old women who could not walk! they
told him if he did n't come report himself, they'd
come fetch him in three days! They beggared him!"
[Both eyes rolling like a ship in a storm.] I could not
help laughing. Mr. Bird sat on the gallery, and had
been served in the same way, with the addition of
a pair of handcuffs for a little while. It was not a
laughing matter; but the old lady made it comical
by her gestures.

When we suggested returning, there was another
difficulty. All said it was madness; that the Yankees
would sack the house and burn it over our heads;
we would be insulted, etc. I said no one yet had ever
said an impudent thing to me, and Yankees certainly
would not attempt it; but the old gentleman told me
I did not know what I was talking about; so I hushed,
but determined to return. Ginnie and I sat an hour
on horseback waiting for the others to settle what
they would do; and after having half-roasted ourselves
in the sun, they finally agreed to go, too, and
we set off in a gallop which we never broke until we
reached the house, which to our great delight we
found standing, and not infested with Yankees.

LINWOOD, August 12th.

Another resting-place!
Out of reach of shells for
the first time since last April! For how long, I wonder?
For wherever we go, we bring shells and Yankees.
Would not be surprised at a visit from them
out here, now!

Let me take up the thread of that never-ending
story, and account for my present position. It all
seems tame now; but it was very exciting at the
time.

As soon as I threw down bonnet and gloves, I
commenced writing; but before I had halfway finished,
mother, who had been holding a consultation
downstairs, ran up to say the overseer had advised
us all to leave, as the place was not safe; and that

I must pack up instantly, as, unless we got off before
the Essex came up, it would be impossible to leave
at all. All was commotion; every one flew to pack up.
Phillie determined to go to her friends at Grosse
Tête, and insisted on carrying us off with her. But
I determined to reach Miriam and Lilly if possible,
rather than put the Federal army between us. All
en déshabillé, I commenced to pack our trunk, but
had scarcely put an article in when they cried the
Essex was rounding the point, and our last opportunity
passing away. Then I flew; and by the time
the boat got opposite to us, the trunk was locked,
and I sat on it, completely dressed, waiting for the
wagon. We had then to wait for the boat to get out
of sight, to avoid a broadside; so it was half-past
ten before we set off, fortified by several glasses of
buttermilk apiece.

All went in the carriage except Ginnie, Lilly (Nolan),
and me, and we perched on the baggage in
the wagon. Such stifling heat! The wagon jarred
dreadfully, and seated at the extreme end, on a
wooden trunk traversed by narrow slats, Ginnie and
I were jolted until we lost our breath, all down
Arkansas Lane, when we changed for the front
part. I shall never forget the heat of that day.

Four miles beyond, the carriage stopped at some
house, and, still determined to get over the river,
I stepped into the little cart that held our trunks,
drove up to the side of it, and insisted on mother's
getting in, rather than going the other way with

Phillie. I had a slight discussion, and overcame
mother's reluctance to Phillie's objections with
some difficulty; but finally prevailed on the former
to get into the cart, and jolted off amid a shower of
reproaches, regrets, and good-byes. I knew I was right,
though; and the idea reconciled me to the heat, dust,
jarring, and gunboat that was coming up behind us.

Six miles more brought us to Mr. Cain's, where
we arrived at two o'clock, tired, dirty, and almost
unrecognizable. We were received with the greatest
cordiality in spite of that. Mother knew both him
and his wife, but though I had never seen either, the
latter kissed me as affectionately as though we had
known each other. It was impossible to cross when
the gunboat was in sight, so they made us stay with
them until the next morning. A bath and clean
clothes soon made me quite presentable, and I really
enjoyed the kindness we met with, in spite of a
"tearing" headache, and a distended feeling about
the eyes as though I never meant to close them again
- the consequence of my vigil, I presume. O those
dear, kind people! I shall not soon forget them. Mr.
Cain told mother he believed he would keep me; at
all events, he would make an exchange, and give her
his only son in my place. I told him I was willing,
as mother thought much more of her sons than of
her daughters.

I forgot to say that we met General Allen's partner
a mile or two from Dr. Nolan's, who told us it was a
wise move; that he had intended recommending it.

All he owned had been carried off, his plantation
stripped. He said he had no doubt that all the coast
would be ravaged, and they had promised to burn
his and many other houses; and Dr. Nolan's - though
it might possibly be spared in consideration of his
being a prisoner, and his daughter being unprotected
- would most probably suffer with the rest,
but even if spared, it was no place for women. He
offered to take charge of us all, and send the furniture
into the interior before the Yankees should land,
which Phillie gladly accepted.

What a splendid rest I had at Mrs. Cain's! I was
not conscious of being alive until I awaked abruptly
in the early morning, with a confused sense of having
dreamed something very pleasant.

Mr. Cain accompanied us to the ferry some miles
above, riding by the buggy; and leaving us under
care of Mr. Randallson, after seeing us in the
large flat, took his leave. After an hour spent at the
hotel after landing on this side, we procured a
conveyance and came on to Mr. Elder's, where we
astonished Lilly by our unexpected appearance very
much. Miriam had gone over to spend the day with
her, so we were all together, and talked over our
adventures with the greatest glee. After dinner Miriam
and I came over here to see them all, leaving the
others to follow later. I was very glad to see Helen
Carter once more. If I was not, I hope I may live in
Yankee-land! - and I can't invoke a more dreadful
punishment than that.

Well! here we are, and Heaven only knows our
next move. But we must settle on some spot, which
seems impossible in the present state of affairs, when
no lodgings are to be found. I feel like a homeless
beggar. Will Pinckney told them here that he
doubted if our house were still standing, as the fight
occurred just back of it, and every volley directed
towards it. He says he thought of it every time the
cannon was fired, knowing where the shot would go.

August 13th.

I am in despair. Miss
Jones, who has just made
her escape from town, brings a most dreadful
account. She, with seventy-five others, took refuge
at Dr. Enders's, more than a mile and a half below
town, at Hall's. It was there we sent the two trunks
containing father's papers and our clothing and silver.
Hearing that guerrillas had been there, the Yankees
went down, shelled the house in the night, turning
all those women and children out, who barely
escaped with their clothing, and let the soldiers
loose on it. They destroyed everything they could lay
their hands on, if it could not be carried off; broke
open armoirs, trunks, sacked the house, and left it
one scene of devastation and ruin. They even stole
Miss Jones's braid! She got here with nothing but
the clothes she wore.

This is a dreadful blow to me. Yesterday, I thought
myself beggared when I heard that our house
was probably burnt, remembering all the clothing,

books, furniture, etc., that it contained; but I
consoled myself with the recollection of a large
trunk packed in the most scientific style, containing
quantities of nightgowns, skirts, chemises, dresses,
cloaks, - in short, our very best, - which was in
safety. Winter had no terrors when I thought of the
nice warm clothes; I only wished I had a few of the
organdie dresses I had packed up before wearing.
And now? It is all gone, silver, father's law papers,
without which we are beggars, and clothing! Nothing
left!

I could stand that. But as each little article of
Harry's came up before me (I had put many in the
trunk), I lost heart. . . . They may clothe their
negro women with my clothes, since they only steal
for them; but to take things so sacred to me! O my
God, teach me to forgive them!

Poor Miss Jones! They went into her clothes-bag
and took out articles which were certainly of no service
to them, for mere deviltry. There are so many
sufferers in this case that it makes it still worse.
The plantation just below was served in the same
way; whole families fired into before they knew of
the intention of the Yankees; was it not fine sport?
I have always been an advocate of peace - if we
could name the conditions ourselves - but I say,
War to the death! I would give my life to be able to
take arms against the vandals who are laying waste
our fair land! I suppose it is because I have no
longer anything to lose that I am desperate. Before,

I always opposed the burning of Baton Rouge, as a
useless piece of barbarism in turning out five thousand
women and children on the charity of the world.
But I noticed that those who had no interest there
warmly advocated it. Lilly Nolan cried loudly for
it; thought it only just; but the first shell that whistled
over her father's house made her crazy with rage.
The brutes! the beasts! how cruel! wicked! etc. It
was too near home for her, then. There is the greatest
difference between my property and yours. I
notice that the further I get from town, the more
ardent are the people to have it burned. It recalls
very forcibly Thackeray's cut in "The Virginians,"
when speaking of the determination of the Rebels to
burn the cities: he says he observed that all those
who were most eager to burn New York were
inhabitants of Boston; while those who were most
zealous to burn Boston had all their property in
New York. It is true all the world over. And I am
afraid I am becoming indifferent about the fate of
our town. Anything, so it is speedily settled! Tell
me it would be of service to the Confederacy,
and I would set fire to my home - if still standing -
willingly! But would it?

August 17th.

Another Sunday. Strange
that the time, which
should seem so endless, flies so rapidly! Miriam
complains that Sunday comes every day; but though
that seems a little too much, I insist that it comes
twice a week. Let time fly, though; for each day

Thursday, we heard from a lady just from town
that our house was standing the day before, which
somewhat consoled us for the loss of our silver and
clothing; but yesterday came the tidings of new
afflictions. I declare we have acted out the first
chapter of Job, all except that verse about the death
of his sons and daughters. God shield us from that!
I do not mind the rest. "While he was yet speaking,
another came in and said, 'Thy brethren and kinsmen
gathered together to wrest thine abode from the
hand of the Philistines which pressed sore upon thee;
when lo! the Philistines sallied forth with fire and
sword, and laid thine habitation waste and desolate,
and I only am escaped to tell thee.' " Yes! the
Yankees, fearing the Confederates might slip in
unseen, resolved to have full view of their movements,
so put the torch to all eastward, from Colonel
Matta's to the Advocate. That would lay open a
fine tract of country, alone; but unfortunately, it is
said that once started, it was not so easy to control
the flames, which spread considerably beyond their
appointed limits. Some say it went as far as Florida
Street; if so, we are lost, as that is a half-square
below us. For several days the fire has been burning,
but very little can be learned of the particulars.
I am sorry for Colonel Matta. Such a fine brown
stone front, the finest in town. Poor Minna! poverty
will hardly agree with her. As for our home, I hope

against hope. I will not believe it is burnt, until somebody
declares having been present on that occasion.
Yet so many frame houses on that square must have
readily caught fire from the sparks.

Wicked as it may seem, I would rather have all I
own burned, than in the possession of the negroes.
Fancy my magenta organdie on a dark beauty! Bah!
I think the sight would enrage me! Miss Jones's trials
are enough to drive her crazy. She had the pleasure
of having four officers in her house, men who sported
epaulets and red sashes, accompanied by a negro
woman, at whose disposal all articles were placed.
The worthy companion of these "gentlemen"
walked around selecting things with the most natural
airs and graces. "This," she would say, "we must
have. And some of these books, you know; and all
the preserves, and these chairs and tables, and all
the clothes, of course; and yes! the rest of these
things." So she would go on, the "gentlemen" assuring
her she had only to choose what she wanted,
and that they would have them removed immediately.
Madame thought they really must have the
wine, and those handsome cut-glass goblets. I hardly
think I could have endured such a scene; to see all
I owned given to negroes, without even an accusation
being brought against me of disloyalty.1 One
officer departed with a fine velvet cloak on his arm;
another took such a bundle of Miss Jones's clothes,

that he had to have it lifted by some one else on his
horse, and rode off holding it with difficulty. This
I heard from herself, yesterday, as I spent the day
with Lilly and mother at Mr. Elder's, where she is
now staying. Can anything more disgraceful be
imagined? They all console me by saying there is
no one in Baton Rouge who could possibly wear my
dresses without adding a considerable piece to the
belt. But that is nonsense. Another pull at the
corset strings would bring them easily to the size
I have been reduced by nature and bones. Besides,
O horror! Suppose, instead, they should let in a piece
of another color? That would annihilate me! Pshaw!
I do not care for the dresses, if they had only left me
those little articles of father's and Harry's. But that
is hard to forgive.

August 19th.

Yesterday, two Colonels,
Shields and Breaux,
both of whom distinguished themselves in the battle
of Baton Rouge, dined here. Their personal appearance
was by no means calculated to fill me with awe,
or even to give one an idea of their rank; for their
dress consisted of merely cottonade pants, flannel
shirts, and extremely short jackets (which, however,
is rapidly becoming the uniform of the Confederate
States).

coarsely clad strangers, who, however, looked as
though they might be gentlemen, has raised a laugh
against me from the others who looked down from
a place of safety. I don't know what I did that was
out of the way. I felt odd receiving them as though
it was my home, and having to answer their questions
about buying, by means of acting as telegraph
between them and Mrs. Carter. I confess to that.
But I know I talked reasonably about the other
subjects. Playing hostess in a strange house! Of
course, it was uncomfortable! and to add to my
embarrassment, the handsomest one offered to pay
for the milk he had just drunk! Fancy my feelings,
as I hastened to assure him that General Carter
never received money for such things, and from a
soldier, besides, it was not to be thought of! He
turned to the other, saying, "In Mississippi we don't
meet with such people! Miss, they don't hesitate
to charge four bits a canteen for milk. They take all
they can. They are not like you Louisianians." I
was surprised to hear him say it of his own State, but
told him we thought here we could not do enough for
them.

August 20th.

Last evening, after hard
labor at pulling molasses
candy, needing some relaxation after our severe
exertions, we determined to have some fun, though
the sun was just setting in clouds as watery as New
Orleans milk, and promised an early twilight. All
day it had been drizzling, but that was nothing; so

Anna Badger, Miriam, and I set off, through the mud,
to get up the little cart to ride in, followed by cries
from the elder ladies of "Girls! Soap is a dollar and
a half a bar! Starch a dollar a pound! Take up those
skirts!" We had all started stiff and clean, and it did
seem a pity to let them drag; so up they went -
you can imagine how high when I tell you my answer
to Anna's question as to whether hers were in danger
of touching the mud, was, "Not unless you sit down."

The only animal we could discover that was not
employed was a poor old pony, most appropriately
called "Tom Thumb," and him we seized instantly,
together with a man to harness him. We accompanied
him from the stable to the quarter where the
cart was, through mud and water, urging him on
with shouts and cries, and laughing until we could
laugh no longer, at the appearance of each. The cart
had been hauling wood, but that was nothing to us.
In we tumbled, and with a driver as diminutive as
the horse, started off for Mr. Elder's, where we
picked up all the children to be found, and went on.
All told, we were twelve, drawn by that poor horse,
who seemed at each step about to undergo the ham
process, and leave us his hind quarters, while he
escaped with the fore ones and harness. I dare say
we never enjoyed a carriage as much, though each
was holding a muddy child. Riding was very fine;
but soon came the question, "How shall we turn?"
- which was not so easily solved, for neither horse
nor boy understood it in the least. Every effort to

describe a circle brought us the length of the cart
farther up the road, and we promised fair to reach
Bayou Sara before morning, at that rate. At last,
after fruitless efforts to dodge under the harness
and escape, pony came to a standstill, and could
not be induced to move. The children took advantage
of the pause to tumble out, but we sat still.
Bogged, and it was very dark already! would n't
we get it when we got home! Anna groaned, "Uncle
Albert!" Miriam laughed, "the General!" I sighed,
"Mrs. Carter!" We knew what we deserved; and
darker and darker it grew, and pony still inflexible!
At last we beheld a buggy on a road near by and in
answer to Morgan's shouts of "Uncle! Uncle! come
turn our cart!" a gentleman jumped out and in an
instant performed the Herculean task. Pony found
motion so agreeable that it was with the greatest
difficulty we prevailed on him to stop while we fished
seven children out of the mud, as they pursued his
flying hoofs. Once more at Mr. Elder's, we pitched
them out without ceremony, and drove home as
fast as possible, trying to fancy what punishment
we would receive for being out so late.

Miriam suggested, as the most horrible one, being
sent to bed supperless; Anna's terror was the
General's displeasure; I suggested being deprived of
rides in future; when all agreed that mine was the
most severe yet. So as we drove around the circle,
those two set up what was meant for a hearty laugh
to show "they were not afraid," which, however,

sounded rather shaky to me. I don't think any of us
felt like facing the elders; Miriam suggested
anticipating our fate by retiring voluntarily to bed;
Anna thought we had best run up and change our
shoes, anyway; but at last, with her dare-devil laugh,
Miriam sauntered into the room, where they all
were, followed by us, and thrusting her wet feet into
the fire that was kindled to drive away the damp
(followed also by us), commenced a laughable
account of our fun - in which we, of course, followed,
too. If I had fancied we were to escape scot free, we
would most surely have got a scolding. It is almost
an inducement to hope always for the - worst! The
General did not mention the hour! did not prohibit
future rides!

While we were yet toasting, a negro came in with
what seemed a bank-note, and asked his master to
see how much it was, as one of the women had sold
some of her watermelons to the three soldiers of
the morning, who had given that to her for a dollar.
The General opened it. It was a pass! So vanish all
faith in human nature! They looked so honest! I
could never have believed it of them! But it looked
so much like the "shinplasters" we are forced to use,
that no wonder they made the mistake. To discover
who had played so mean a trick on the poor old
woman, the General asked me if I could decipher the
name. I threw myself on my knees by the hearth,
and by the flickering light read "S. Kimes. By order
of C! H!! Luzenberg! ! ! Provost Marshal! ! ! !

Onolona, Miss.," with a gasp of astonishment that
raised a burst of laughter against me. Thought he
was taken prisoner long ago! At all events, I did n't
know he had turned banker, or that his valuable
autograph was worth a dollar!

August 21st.

Miriam and mother are going to Baton Rouge in
a few hours, to see if anything can be saved from the
general wreck. From the reports of the removal of
the Penitentiary machinery, State Library, Washington
Statue, etc., we presume that that part of the
town yet standing is to be burnt like the rest. I
think, though, that mother has delayed too long.
However, I dreamed last night that we had saved a
great deal, in trunks; and my dreams sometimes
come true. Waking with that impression, I was
surprised, a few hours after, to hear mother's sudden
determination. But I also dreamed I was about to
marry a Federal officer! That was in consequence of
having answered the question, whether I would do
so, with an emphatic "Yes! if I loved him," which
will probably ruin my reputation as a patriot in this
parish. Bah! I am no bigot! - or fool either. . . .

August 23d.

Yesterday Anna and I spent the day with Lilly,
and the rain in the evening obliged us to stay all
night. Dr. Perkins stopped there, and repeated the
same old stories we have been hearing, about the
powder placed under the State House and Garrison,

to blow them up, if forced to evacuate the town.
He confirms the story about all the convicts being set
free, and the town being pillaged by the negroes and
the rest of the Yankees. He says his own slaves told
him they were allowed to enter the houses and help
themselves, and what they did not want the Yankees
either destroyed on the spot, or had it carried to the
Garrison and burned. They also bragged of having
stopped ladies on the street, cut their necklaces
from their necks, and stripped the rings from their
fingers, without hesitation. It may be that they
were just bragging to look great in the eyes of their
masters; I hope so, for Heaven help them if they fall
into the hands of the Confederates, if it is true.

I could not record all the stories of wanton
destruction that reached us. I would rather not
believe that the Federal Government could be so
disgraced by its own soldiers. Dr. Day says they left
nothing at all in his house, and carried everything
off from Dr. Enders's. He does not believe we have
a single article left in ours. I hope they spared
Miriam's piano. But they say the soldiers had so
many that they offered them for sale at five dollars
apiece! We heard that the town had been completely
evacuated, and all had gone to New Orleans except three
gunboats that were preparing to shell, before leaving.

This morning Withers's battery passed Mr. Elder's
on their way to Port Hudson, and stopped to get
water. There were several buckets served by several

servants; but I took possession of one, to their great
amusement. What a profusion of thanks over a can
of water! It made me smile, and they smiled to see
my work, so it was all very funny. It was astonishing
to see the number of Yankee canteens in the
possession of our men. Almost all those who fought
at Baton Rouge are provided with them. In their
canvas and wire cases, with neat stoppers, they are
easily distinguished from our rough, flat, tin ones.
I declare I felt ever so important in my new situation
as waiting-maid!

There is very little we would not do for our
soldiers, though. There is mother, for instance, who
got on her knees to bathe the face and hands of a
fever-struck soldier of the Arkansas, while the girls held
the plates of those who were too weak to hold them
and eat at the same time. Blessed is the Confederate
soldier who has even toothache, when there are
women near! What sympathies and remedies are
volunteered! I always laugh, as I did then, when I
think of the supposed wounded man those girls
discovered on that memorable Arkansas day. I must
first acknowledge that it was my fault; for seized
with compassion for a man supported by two others
who headed the procession, I cried, "Oh, look! he
is wounded!" "Oh, poor fellow!" screamed the
others, while tears and exclamations flowed
abundantly, until one of the men, smiling humorously,
cried out, "Nothing the matter with him!" and on
nearer view, I perceived it was laziness, or perhaps

something else, and was forced to laugh at the
streaming eyes of those tender-hearted girls.

August 24th, Sunday.

Soon after dinner yesterday two soldiers stopped
here, and requested permission to remain all night.
The word "soldier" was enough for us; and without
even seeing them, Anna and I gladly surrendered
our room, and said we would sleep in Mrs. Badger's,
instead. However, I had no curiosity to see the
heroes, and remained up here reading until the bell
summoned me to supper, when I took my seat without
looking at them, as no introduction was possible,
from their having refrained from giving their names.

Presently I heard the words, "That retreat from
Norfolk was badly conducted." I looked up, and
saw before me a rather good-looking man covered
with the greatest profusion of gold cloth and buttons,
for which I intuitively despised him. The impulse
seized me, so I spoke. "Were you there?" "No; but
near by. I was there with the First Louisiana for
'most a year." "Do you know George Morgan?"
"Know George? Yes, indeed! You are his sister."
This was an assertion; but I bowed assent, and he
went on, "Thought so, from the resemblance. I
remember seeing you ten years ago, when you were
a very little girl. I used to be at your house with the
boys; we were schoolmates." I remarked that I had
no recollection of him. "Of course not," he said,
but did not inform me of his name. He talked very

familiarly of the boys, and said he had met them all
at Richmond. Next he astounded me by saying he
was a citizen of Baton Rouge, though he had been
almost four years in New York before the war broke
out. He was going to town to look after the "property,"
hearing his father had gone to France. An inhabitant
of that city, who was so familiar with my brothers
and me, and with whom I was not acquainted!
Here was a riddle to solve. Let us see who
among our acquaintances had gone to France. I
could think of none. I made up my mind to find out
his name if I had to ask it.

All through supper he talked, and when, in country
style, the gentlemen left us at table, I found the
curiosity of the others was even more excited than
mine. I was determined to know who he was, then.

In the parlor, he made some remark about never
having been in ladies' society the whole time he was in
Virginia. I expressed my surprise, as George often
wrote of the pleasant young ladies he met everywhere.
"Oh, yes!" said monsieur, "but it is impossible
to do your duty as an officer, and be a lady's
man; so I devoted myself to my military profession
exclusively." "Insufferable puppy!" I said to myself.
Then he told me of how his father thought he
was dead, and asked if I had heard of his rallying
twenty men at Manassas, and charging a Federal
regiment, which instantly broke? I honestly told
him, "No." "Iagoo, the great boaster," I decided.
Abruptly he said there were very few nice young

ladies in Baton Rouge. "Probably so, in his circle,"
I thought, while I dryly remarked, "Indeed?" "Oh,
yes!" and still more abruptly he said, "Ain't you the
youngest? - Yes! I thought so! I remember you
when you were a wee thing, so high," placing his
hand at a most insultingly short distance from the
floor. "Really I must ask your name," I said. He
hesitated a moment and then said in a low tone, "De
J- ." " De- What?" I absurdly asked, thinking
I was mistaken. "A- de J- " he repeated.
I bowed slightly to express my satisfaction, said,
"Anna, we must retire," and with a good-night to
my newly discovered gentleman, went upstairs.

He is the one I heard George speak of last December
when he was here, as having been court-martialed,
and shot, according to the universal belief
in the army; that was the only time I had ever heard
his name, though I was quite familiar with the cart of
De J- père, as it perambulated the streets. My
first impressions are seldom erroneous. From the
first, I knew that man's respectability was derived
from his buttons. That is why he took such pride in
them, and contemplated them with such satisfaction.
They lent him social backbone enough to converse
so familiarly with me; without the effulgence
of that splendid gold, which he hoped would dazzle
my eye to his real position, he would have hardly
dared to "remember me when I was a wee thing, so
high." Is he the only man whose coat alone entitles
him to respectability? He may be colonel, for all I

know; but still, he is A- de J- to me. He
talked brave enough to be general.

This morning I met him
with a cordial
"Good-morning, Mr. de J-," anxious to atone
for several "snubs" I had given him, long before I
knew his name, last night; you see I could afford to be
patronizing now. But the name probably, and the
fluency with which I pronounced it, proved too
much for him, and after "Good-morning, Miss
Morgan," he did not venture a word. We knew each
other then; his name was no longer a secret.

August 25th. About 12 at night.

Sleep is impossible after
all that I have heard, so,
after vainly endeavoring to follow the example of
the rest, and sleep like a Stoic, I have lighted my
candle and take to this to induce drowsiness.

Just after supper, when Anna and I were sitting
with Mrs. Carter in her room, I talking as usual of
home, and saying I would be perfectly happy if
mother would decide to remain in Baton Rouge and
brave the occasional shellings, I heard a well-known
voice take up some sentence of mine from a dark
part of the room, and with a cry of surprise, I was
hugging Miriam until she was breathless. Such a
forlorn creature! - so dirty, tired, and fatigued, as
to be hardly recognizable. We thrust her into a
chair, and made her speak. She had just come with
Charlie, who went after them yesterday; and had
left mother and the servants at a kind friend's on

the road. I never heard such a story as she told. I
was heartsick; but I laughed until Mrs. Badger grew
furious with me and the Yankees, and abused me
for not abusing them.

She says when she entered the house, she burst
into tears at the desolation. It was one scene of
ruin. Libraries emptied, china smashed, sideboards
split open with axes, three cedar chests cut open,
plundered, and set up on end; all parlor ornaments
carried off - even the alabaster Apollo and Diana
that Hal valued so much. Her piano, dragged to the
centre of the parlor, had been abandoned as too
heavy to carry off; her desk lay open with all letters
and notes well thumbed and scattered around,
while Will's last letter to her was open on the floor,
with the Yankee stamp of dirty fingers. Mother's
portrait half-cut from its frame stood on the floor.
Margret, who was present at the sacking, told how
she had saved father's. It seems that those who
wrought destruction in our house were all officers.
One jumped on the sofa to cut the picture down
(Miriam saw the prints of his muddy feet) when
Margret cried, "For God's sake, gentlemen, let it be!
I'll help you to anything here. He's dead, and the
young ladies would rather see the house burn than
lose it!" "I'll blow your damned brains out," was the
"gentleman's" answer as he put a pistol to her head,
which a brother officer dashed away, and the picture
was abandoned for finer sport. All the others were
cut up in shreds.

Page 192

Upstairs was the finest fun. Mother's beautiful
mahogany armoir, whose single door was an
extremely fine mirror, was entered by crashing
through the glass, when it was emptied of every
article, and the shelves half-split, and half-thrust
back crooked. Letters, labeled by the boys "Private,"
were strewn over the floor; they opened every armoir
and drawer, collected every rag to be found and
littered the whole house with them, until the wonder
was, where so many rags had been found. Father's
armoir was relieved of everything; Gibbes's
handsome Damascus sword with the silver scabbard
included. All his clothes, George's, Hal's, Jimmy's,
were appropriated. They entered my room, broke
that fine mirror for sport, pulled down the rods
from the bed, and with them pulverized my toilet
set, taking also all Lydia's china ornaments I had
packed in the wash-stand. The débris filled my
basin, and ornamented my bed. My desk was broken
open. Over it was spread all my letters, and private
papers, a diary I kept when twelve years old, and
sundry tokens of dried roses, etc., which must have
been very funny, they all being labeled with the
donor's name, and the occasion. Fool! how I writhe
when I think of all they saw; the invitations to buggy
rides, concerts, "Compliments of," etc. -! Lilly's
sewing-machine had disappeared, but as mother's
was too heavy to move, they merely smashed the
needles.

flounced muslin of Miriam's, which one officer placed
on the end of a bayonet, and paraded round with,
followed by the others who slashed it with their
swords crying, "I have stuck the damned Secesh!
that's the time I cut her!" and continued their sport
until the rags could no longer be pierced. One seized
my bonnet, with which he decked himself, and ran
in the streets. Indeed, all who found such, rushed
frantically around town, by way of frolicking, with
the things on their heads. They say no frenzy could
surpass it. Another snatched one of my calico dresses,
and a pair of vases that mother had when she was
married, and was about to decamp when a Mrs.
Jones jerked them away, and carried them to her
boarding-house, and returned them to mother the
other day. Blessed be Heaven! I have a calico dress!
Our clothes were used for the vilest purposes, and
spread in every corner - at least those few that were
not stolen.

Aunt Barker's Charles tried his best to defend
the property. "Ain't you 'shamed to destroy all
dis here, that belongs to a poor widow lady who's
got two daughters to support? " he asked of an officer
who was foremost in the destruction. "Poor?
Damn them! I don't know when I have seen a house
furnished like this! Look at that furniture! They
poor!" was the retort, and thereupon the work went
bravely on, of making us poor, indeed.

It would have fared badly with us had we been
there. The servants say they broke into the house

crying, "Where are those damned Secesh women?
We know they are hid in here, and we 'll make them
dance for hiding from Federal officers!" And they
could not be convinced that we were not there, until
they had searched the very garret. Wonder what
they would have done? Charles caught a Captain
Clark in the streets, when the work was almost over
and begged him to put an end to it. The gentleman
went readily, but though the devastation was quite
evident, no one was to be seen, and he was about
to leave, when, insisting that there was some one
there, Charles drew him into my room, dived under
the bed, and drew from thence a Yankee captain
by one leg, followed by a lieutenant, each with a
bundle of the boys' clothes, which they instantly
dropped, protesting they were only looking around
the house. The gentleman captain carried them off
to their superior.

Ours was the most shockingly treated house in the
whole town. We have the misfortune to be equally
feared by both sides, because we will blackguard
neither. So the Yankees selected the only house in
town that sheltered three forlorn women, to wreak
their vengeance on. From far and near, strangers
and friends flocked in to see the ravages committed.
Crowds rushed in before, crowds came in after,
Miriam and mother arrived, all apologizing for the
intrusion, but saying they had heard it was a sight
never before seen. So they let them examine to their
hearts' content; and Miriam says the sympathy of

all was extraordinary. A strange gentleman picked
up a piece of mother's mirror, which was as thick as
his finger, saying, "Madame, I should like to keep
this as a memento. I am about to travel through
Mississippi, and having seen what a splendid piece
of furniture this was, and the state your house is
left in, should like to show this as a specimen of
Yankee vandalism."

William Waller flew to our home to try to save
it; but was too late. They say he burst into tears as
he looked around. While on his kind errand, another
band of Yankees burst into his house and left not
one article of clothing to him, except the suit he had
on. The whole talk is about our dreadful treatment
at the Yankees' hands. Dr. Day, and Dr. Enders,
in spite of the assertions of the former, lost nothing.

Well! I am beggared! Strange to say, I don't feel
it. Perhaps it is the satisfaction of knowing my fate
that makes me so cheerful that Mrs. Carter envied
my stoicism, while Mrs. Badger felt like beating me
because I did not agree that there was no such thing
as a gentleman in the Yankee army. I know Major
Drum for one, and that Captain Clark must be two,
and Mr. Biddle is three, and General Williams -
God bless him, wherever he is! for he certainly acted
like a Christian. The Yankees boasted loudly that
if it had not been for him, the work would have been
done long ago.

And now, I am determined to see my home,
before Yankee shells complete the work that Yankee

axes spared. So by sunrise, I shall post over to Mr
Elder's, and insist on Charlie taking me to town with
him. I hardly think it is many hours off. I feel so
settled, so calm! Just as though I never meant to
sleep again. If I only had a desk, - a luxury I have
not enjoyed since I left home, - I could write for
hours still, without being sleepy; but this curved
attitude is hard on my stiff back, so good-night, while
I lie down to gain strength for a sight they say will
make me faint with distress. Nous verrons! If I
say I Won't, I know I 'll not cry. The Brunots lost
nothing at all from their house, thank Heaven for
the mercy! Only they lost all their money in their
flight. On the door, on their return, they found
written, "Ladies, I have done my best for you,"
signed by a Yankee soldier, who they suppose to
be the one who has made it a habit of continually
passing their house.

Forgot to say Miriam recovered my guitar from
the Asylum, our large trunk and father's papers
(untouched) from Dr. Enders's, and with her piano,
the two portraits, a few mattresses (all that is left
of housekeeping affairs), and father's law books,
carried them out of town. For which I say in all
humility, Blessed be God who has spared us so
much.

Thursday, August 28th.

I am satisfied. I have
seen my home again.
Tuesday I was up at sunrise, and my few preparations
were soon completed, and before any one was awake,

I walked over to Mr. Elder's, through mud and dew,
to meet Charlie. Fortunate was it for me that I
started so early; for I found him hastily eating his
breakfast, and ready to leave. He was very much
opposed to my going; and for some time I was
afraid he would force me to remain; but at last he
consented, - perhaps because I did not insist, - and
with wet feet and without a particle of breakfast,
I at length found myself in the buggy on the road
home. The ride afforded me a series of surprises.
Half the time I found myself halfway out of the little
low-necked buggy when I thought I was safely in;
and the other half, I was surprised to find myself
really in when I thought I was wholly out. And so
on, for mile after mile, over muddy roads, until we
came to a most terrific cross-road, where we were
obliged to pass, and which is best undescribed. Four
miles from town we stopped at Mrs. Brown's to see
mother, and after a few moments' talk, went on our
road.

I saw the first Yankee camp that Will Pinckney
and Colonel Bird had set fire to the day of the battle.
Such a shocking sight of charred wood, burnt clothes,
tents, and all imaginable articles strewn around, I
had never before seen. I should have been very
much excited, entering the town by the route our
soldiers took; but I was not. It all seemed tame and
familiar. I could hardly fancy I stood on the very
spot where the severest struggle had taken place.
The next turn of the road brought us to two graves,

one on each side of the road, the resting-place of
two who fell that day. They were merely left in the
ditch where they fell, and earth from the side was
pulled over them. When Miriam passed, parts of
their coats were sticking out of the grave; but some
kind hand had scattered fresh earth over them when
I saw them. Beyond, the sight became more common.
I was told that their hands and feet were visible from
many. And one poor fellow lay unburied, just as he
had fallen, with his horse across him, and both skeletons.
That sight I was spared, as the road near which he
was Iying was blocked up by trees, so we were
forced to go through the woods, to enter, instead of
passing by, the Catholic graveyard. In the woods, we
passed another camp our men destroyed, while the
torn branches above testified to the number of shells
our men had braved to do the work. Next to Mr.
Barbee's were the remains of a third camp that
was burned; and a few more steps made me
suddenly hold my breath, for just before us lay a
dead horse with the flesh still hanging, which was
hardly endurable. Close by lay a skeleton, - whether
of man or horse, I did not wait to see. Not a human
being appeared until we reached the Penitentiary,
which was occupied by our men. After that, I saw
crowds of wagons moving furniture out, but not a
creature that I knew. Just back of our house was
all that remained of a nice brick cottage - namely,
four crumbling walls. The offense was that the husband
was fighting for the Confederates; so the wife

was made to suffer, and is now homeless, like many
thousands besides. It really seems as though God
wanted to spare our homes. The frame dwellings
adjoining were not touched, even. The town was
hardly recognizable; and required some skill to avoid
the corners blocked up by trees, so as to get in at all.

Our house could not be reached by the front, so
we left the buggy in the back yard, and running
through the lot without stopping to examine the
storeroom and servants' rooms that opened wide, I
went through the alley and entered by the front
door.

Fortunate was it for this record that I undertook
to describe the sacking only from Miriam's
account. If I had waited until now, it would never
have been mentioned; for as I looked around, to
attempt such a thing seemed absurd. I stood in the
parlor in silent amazement; and in answer to Charlie's
"Well?" I could only laugh. It was so hard to
realize. As I looked for each well-known article,
I could hardly believe that Abraham Lincoln's officers
had really come so low down as to steal in such
a wholesale manner. The papier-maché workbox
Miriam had given me was gone. The baby sacque I
was crocheting, with all knitting needles and wools,
gone also. Of all the beautiful engravings of Annapolis
that Will Pinckney had sent me, there remained
a single one. Gentlemen, my name is written on
each! Not a book remained in the parlor, except
"Idyls of the King," that contained my name also,

and which, together with the door-plate, was the
only case in which the name of Morgan was spared.
They must have thought we were related to John
Morgan, and wreaked their vengeance on us for
that reason. Thanks for the honor, but there is not
the slightest connection! Where they did not carry
off articles bearing our name, they cut it off, as in
the visiting-cards, and left only the first name.
Every book of any value or interest, except Hume
and Gibbon, was "borrowed" permanently. I
regretted Macaulay more than all the rest. Brother's
splendid French histories went, too; all except
" L'Histoire de la Bastille." However, as they
spared father's law libraries (all except one volume
they used to support a flour barrel with, while they
emptied it near the parlor door), we ought to be
thankful.

The dining-room was very funny. I looked around
for the cut-glass celery and preserve dishes that
were to be part of my "dot," as mother always
said, together with the champagne glasses that had
figured on the table the day that I was born; but
there remained nothing. There was plenty of split-up
furniture, though. I stood in mother's room before the
shattered armoir, which I could hardly believe the
same that I had smoothed my hair before, as I left
home three weeks previously. Father's was split
across, and the lock torn off, and in the place of the
hundreds of articles it contained, I saw two bonnets
at the sight of which I actually sat down to laugh.

One was mother's velvet, which looked very much
like a football in its present condition. Mine was not
to be found, as the officers forgot to return it. Wonder
who has my imperial? I know they never saw
a handsomer one, with its black velvet, purple silk,
and ostrich feathers.

I went to my room. Gone was my small paradise!
Had this shocking place ever been habitable? The
tall mirror squinted at me from a thousand broken
angles. It looked so knowing! I tried to fancy the
Yankee officers being dragged from under my bed
by the leg, thanks to Charles; but it seemed too
absurd; so I let them alone. My desk! What a sight!
The central part I had kept as a little curiosity shop
with all my little trinkets and keepsakes of which a
large proportion were from my gentlemen friends;
I looked for all I had left, found only a piece of the
McRae, which, as it was labeled in full, I was
surprised they had spared. Precious letters I found
under heaps of broken china and rags; all my notes
were gone, with many letters. I looked for a letter
of poor-, in cipher, with the key attached, and
name signed in plain hand. I knew it would hardly
be agreeable to him to have it read, and it certainly
would be unpleasant to me to have it published; but
I could not find it. Miriam thinks she saw something
answering the description, somewhere, though.

Many suffered along with us, though none so
severely. Indeed, the Yankees cursed loudly at
those who did not leave anything worth stealing.
They cannot complain of us, on that score. All our
handsome Brussels carpets, together with Lydia's
fur, were taken, too. What did they not take? In the
garret, in its darkest corner, a whole gilt-edged china
set of Lydia's had been overlooked; so I set to work
and packed it up, while Charlie packed her furniture
in a wagon, to send to her father.

It was now three o'clock; and with my light linen
dress thrown off, I was standing over a barrel putting
in cups and saucers as fast as I could wrap them in
the rags that covered the floor, when Mr. Larguier
sent me a nice little dinner. I had been so many
hours without eating - nineteen, I think, during
three of which I had slept - that I had lost all
appetite; but nevertheless I ate it, to show my
appreciation. If I should here after think that the
quantity of rags was exaggerated, let me here state
that, after I had packed the barrel and china with
them, it made no perceptible diminution of the pile.

As soon as I had finished my task, Charlie was
ready to leave again; so I left town without seeing,
or hearing, any one, or any thing, except what lay
in my path. As we drove out of the gate, I begged
Charlie to let me get my bird, as I heard Charles
Barker had him. A man was dispatched, and in a
few minutes returned with my Jimmy. I have since
heard that Tiche deserted him the day of the battle,

as I so much feared she would; and that Charles
found him late in the evening and took charge of
him. With my pet once more with me, we drove off
again. I cast many a longing look at the graveyard;
but knowing Charlie did not want to stop, I
said nothing, though I had been there but once in
three months, and that once, six weeks ago. I could
see where the fence had been thrown down by our
soldiers as they charged the Federals, but it was
now replaced, though many a picket was gone. Once
more I stopped at Mrs. Brown's, while Charlie went
on to Clinton, leaving me to drive mother here in the
morning. Early yesterday, after seeing Miriam's
piano and the mattresses packed up and on the road,
we started off in the buggy, and after a tedious ride
through a melting sun, arrived here about three
o'clock, having again missed my dinner, which I
kept a profound secret until supper-time.

By next Ash Wednesday, I will have learned how
to fast without getting sick! Though very tired, I
sat sewing until after sunset, dictating a page and a
half to Anna, who was writing to Howell.

August 29, CLINTON, LA.

Noah's duck has
found another resting-place!
Yesterday I was interrupted while writing, to pack
up for another move, it being impossible to find a
boarding-house in the neighborhood. We heard of
some about here, and Charlie had engaged a house
for his family, where the servants were already settled,

so I hurried off to my task. No easy one, either
considering the heat and length of time allowed.
This time I ate dinner as I packed, again. About
four, finding Miriam did not come to Mr. Elder's as
she promised, I started over to General Carter's
with her clothes, and found her just getting into the
buggy to ride over, as I arrived warm, tired, hardly
able to stand. After taking her over, the General
sent the buggy back for Mrs. Carter and myself,
and soon we were all assembled waiting for the cars.
At last, determining to wait for them near the track,
we started off again, General Carter driving me in
his buggy. I love General Carter. Again, after so
many kind invitations, he told me he was sorry we
would not remain with him; if we were content, he
would be only too happy to have us with him; and
spoke so kindly that I felt as though I had a Yankee
ball in my throat. I was disposed to be melancholy
anyway; I could not say many words without choking.
I was going from the kindest of friends to a
country where I had none at all; so could not feel
very gay. As we reached the track, the cars came
shrieking along. There was a pause, a scufffle, during
which the General placed me and my bird in a seat,
while Lilly, Charlie, Miriam, mother, five children,
and two servants, with all the baggage, were thrown
aboard some way, when with a shriek and a jerk we
were off again, without a chance of saying good-bye,
even.

was, that it came to an end. I would have wished
it to spin along until the war was over, or we in a
settled home. But it ended at last, to Jimmy's great
relief, for he was too frightened to move even, and
only ventured a timid chirp if the car stopped, as if
to ask, "Is it over?" Nothing occurred of any interest
except once a little boy sent us slightly off the
track, by meddling with the brakes.

Landed at sunset, it is hard to fancy a more
forlorn crew, while waiting at the depot to get the
baggage off before coming to the house. We burst
out laughing as we looked at each lengthened face.
Such a procession through the straggling village has
hardly been seen before. How we laughed at our
forlorn plight as we trudged through the hilly streets, -
they have no pavements here, - looking like emigrants
from the Ould Counthry, as we have watched
them in New Orleans!

At the house we found Tiche laid up. The loaded
wagon, with its baggage, four mules, three grown
servants, and four children, was precipitated from a
bridge twenty-five feet high, by the breaking of the
before-mentioned causeway, and landed with the
whole concern in deep water below. Wonderful to
relate, not a life was lost! The mattress on which the
negroes remained seated floated them off into
shallow water. The only one hurt was Tiche, who
had her leg severely sprained. The baggage was
afterwards fished out, rather wet. In the mud next
morning (it happened late at night), Dophy found

a tiny fancy bottle that she had secreted from the
Yankees; a present from Clemmy Luzenberg, it was,
and one of two things left in my curiosity shop by
the Yankees.

After seeing everything in, we started off for the
hotel, where we arrived after dark, rather tired, I
think. Not a comfortable house, either, unless you
call a bare, unfurnished, dirty room without shutter
or anything else, comfortable; particularly when you
are to sleep on the floor with four children and three
grown people, and a servant. After breakfast we
came here until we can find a place to settle in,
which Mr. Marsden has promised to attend to for
us. It is rather rough housekeeping yet, but Lilly
has not yet got settled. Our dinner was rather
primitive. There was a knife and fork to carve the
meat, and then it was finished with spoons. I sat on
the floor with my plate, and a piece of cornbread
(flour not to be bought at any price) and ate with
my fingers - a new experience. I found that water
can be drunk out of a cup!

Ouf! I am tired!

August 30th.

Still no prospect of a
lodging; so here we remain.
I never before lived in a house without a balcony,
and have only now found out how inconvenient it is.
The whole establishment consists of two rooms on
each side of a passage as wide as the front door; and
as it has a very low ceiling, with no opening, and no
shade near, it is decidedly the warmest spot I ever

inhabited. We all sleep on the floor and keep our
clothes in our trunks - except Lilly, who has an
armoir without doors. Knives and forks for dinner
to-day, though the table still consists of a single
plank. The house really has a suffocating effect on
me, there is such a close look about it. The front is
fully a foot below the level of the street, while quite
a flight of steps leads from the back door to the yard.
In fact, the whole town consists of abrupt little
mounds. It is rather a pretty place; but Heaven
save me from the misery of living in it! Miriam is
crazy to remain - even advocates that dirty, bare,
shutterless boarding-house where we passed the
first night, from what attraction I cannot imagine. I
am just as anxious to get into the country. I would
hate the dull round of this little place; I prefer
solitude where I can do as I please without being
observed. Here we are as well known by people
we never before heard of as though we were
fellow-citizens.

September 1st, Monday.

I woke up this morning
and, to my great surprise,
find that summer has already passed away, and that
we have already entered the first month of fall.
Where has the summer gone to? Since the taking of
Fort Jackson, the days have gone by like a dream.
I had hardly realized spring, when now I find it is
autumn. I am content to let the time fly, though, as
every day brings us nearer Peace - or something
else.

How shockingly I write! Will I ever again have a
desk or a table to write on? At present, my seat is a
mattress, and my knee my desk; and that is about
the only one I have had since the 2d of August. This
is the dreariest day I have seen for some time.
Outside, it has been raining since daybreak, and
inside, no one feels especially bright or cheerful.
I sometimes wish mother would carry out her threat
and brave the occasional shellings at Baton Rouge.
I would dare anything, to be at home again. I know
that the Yankees have left us little besides the bare
house; but I would be grateful for the mere shelter
of the roof. I often fancy how we will miss little
articles that we thought necessary to our comfort
before, when we return. . . . And the shoes I paid five
dollars for, and wore a single time? I am wishing I
had them now that I am almost barefooted, and
cannot find a pair in the whole country. . . . Would it
not be curious, if one of these days while traveling
in the North (if I ever travel again), I should find some
well-loved object figuring in a strange house as a
"trophy of the battle of Baton Rouge"? I should
have to seek for them in some very low house,
perhaps; respectable people had very little to do
with such disgraceful work, I fancy. Suppose I should
see father's cigar-stand, for instance, or Miriam's
little statues? I wonder if the people would have
the conscience to offer to return them? A young
lady, passing by one of the pillaged houses, expressed
her surprise at seeing an armoir full of women's and

children's clothes being emptied, and the contents
tied up in sheets. "What can you do with such
things?" she asked a soldier who seemed more
zealous than the rest. "Ain't I got a wife and four
children in the North?" was the answer. So we, who
have hardly clothes enough for our own use, are
stripped to supply Northerners!

One would think that I had no theme save the
wreck of our house, if they read this. But I take it
all out in here. I believe I must be made of wood, or
some other tough material, not to feel it more. I
sometimes ask myself if it is because I did not care
for home, that I take it so quietly now. But I know
that is not it. I was wild about it before I knew what
had happened; since I learned all, few are the words
that have escaped my lips concerning it. Perhaps
it is because I have the satisfaction of knowing
what all women crave for - the Worst. Indeed it is
a consolation in such days as these when truth
concerning either side is difficult to discover. The
certainty of anything, fortune or misfortune, is comfort
to me. I really feel sorry for the others who suffered;
but it does not strike me that sympathy is necessary
in our case.

Mrs. Flynn came to Lilly's room, when she heard
of it, well prepared for sympathy, with a large
handkerchief and a profusion of tears, when she was
horrified to find both her and Miriam laughing over
the latter's description of some comical scene that
met her sight in one of the rooms. Seems to me that

tears on all occasions come in as the fortieth article,
to the articles of belief of some people.

September 3d.

Political news it would
be absurd to record; for
our information is more than limited, being frequently
represented by a blank. Of the thirteen battles
that Gibbes has fought in, I know the names
of four only: Bull Run, Stonebridge, Port Republic,
and Cedar Run. Think of all I have yet to hear!
Today comes the news of another grand affair, the
defeat of McClellan, Pope, and Burnside combined.
If I dared believe it! But accounts are too meagre
as yet. Both Gibbes and George were in it, if there
was a fight, and perhaps Jimmy, too. Well! I must
wait in patience. We have lost so much already that
God will surely spare those three to us. Oh! if they
come again, if we can meet once more, what will the
troubles of the last six months signify? If I dared
hope that next summer would bring us Peace! I
always prophesy it just six months off; but do I
believe it?

Indeed, I don't know what will become of us if it is
delayed much longer. If we could only get home, it
would be another thing; but boarding, how long will
mother's two hundred and fifty last? And that is all
the money she has. As to the claims, amounting to
a small fortune, she might as well burn them. They
will never be paid. But if we get home, what will we
do for bedding? The Yankees did not leave us a

single comfort, and only two old bars and a pair of
ragged sheets, which articles are not to be replaced
at any price in the Confederacy, so we must go
without. How glad I am that we gave all our blankets
to our soldiers last summer! So much saved
from the Yankees!

Poor Lavinia! She fancies us comfortably
settled at home; I dare say she spends all her time
in picturing to herself what we may be doing, and
recalling each piece of furniture the rooms contained.
Wonder if she would not be shocked if the real scene
were suddenly revealed to her, and she should see
the desolated house and see us fugitives in a strange
town. Wonder how the cry of "Where are those
three damned Secesh women?" would have struck
her, had she heard the strange oaths and seen the
eager search which followed? I dare say it would
have frightened her more than it did me when I was
told of it. William Waller says it is God's mercy
that we had escaped already, for we certainly would
have suffered. I hardly think we could have been
harmed, though, and shall always regret that we
did not return immediately after the battle. It took
them from that day to the evacuation to finish the
work; and I rather think that our presence would
have protected the house.

Our servants they kindly made free, and told
them they must follow them (the officers). Margret
was boasting the other day of her answer, "I don't
want to be any free-er than I is now - I'll stay with

my mistress," when Tiche shrewdly remarked
"Pshaw! Don't you know that if I had gone, you'd
have followed me?" The conduct of all our servants
is beyond praise. Five thousand negroes followed
their Yankee brothers from the town and neighborhood;
but ours remained. During the fight, or flight,
rather, a fleeing officer stopped to throw a musket
in Charles Barker's hands, and bade him fight for his
liberty. Charles drew himself up, saying, "I am
only a slave, but I am a Secesh nigger, and won't
fight in such a d- crew !" Exit Yankee, continuing
his flight down to the riverside.

September 4th.

I hear to-day that the Brunots have returned to
Baton Rouge, determined to await the grand finale
there. They, and two other families, alone remain.
With these exceptions, and a few Dutch and Irish
who cannot leave, the town is perfectly deserted
by all except the Confederate soldiers. I wish I
was with them! If all chance of finding lodgings
here is lost, and mother remains with Lilly, as she
sometimes seems more than half inclined, and
Miriam goes to Linwood, as she frequently threatens,
I believe I will take a notion, too, and go to Mrs.
Brunot! I would rather be there, in all the uncertainty,
expecting to be shelled or burnt out every
hour, than here. Ouf! what a country! Next time
I go shopping, I mean to ask some clerk, out of
curiosity, what they do sell in Clinton. The following
is a list of a few of the articles that shopkeepers

actually laugh at you if you ask for: Glasses, flour,
soap, starch, coffee, candles, matches, shoes,
combs, guitar-strings, bird-seed, - in short, everything
that I have heretofore considered as necessary to
existence. If any one had told me I could have lived
off of cornbread, a few months ago, I would have
been incredulous; now I believe it, and return an
inward grace for the blessing at every mouthful. I have
not tasted a piece of wheatbread since I left home,
and shall hardly taste it again until the war is over.

I do not like this small burg. It is very straggling
and pretty, but I would rather not inhabit it. We
are as well known here as though we carried our
cards on our faces, and it is peculiarly disagreeable
to me to overhear myself spoken about, by people I
don't know, as "There goes Miss Morgan," as that
young man, for instance, remarked this morning to a
crowd, just as I passed. It is not polite, to say the
least.

Will Carter was here this morning and told me
he saw Theodore Pinckney in the streets. I suppose
he is on his way home, and think he will be a little
disappointed in not finding us at Linwood as he
expects, and still more so to hear he passed through
the very town where we were staying, without
knowing it.

BEECH GROVE,
September 6th, Saturday.

Another perch for Noah's
duck! Where will I be
in a week or two from this? I shall make a mark,

twenty pages from here, and see where I shall be
when I reach it. Here, most probably; but oh, if I
could then be at home! General Carter, who spent
the evening with us day before yesterday, remarked
that the first thing he heard as he reached town was
that all the gentlemen and ladies of Clinton were
hunting for country lodgings for us. It was pretty
much the case. The General was as kind as ever
bless his gray head! and made us promise to go back
to Linwood with him when he passes back next
week. This is the way we keep the promise - coming
out here.

Early yesterday morning we received a note from
Eliza Haynes, one of our indefatigable agents, saying
her grandmother, Mrs. McCay, had consented to
receive us, and would come for us in the evening.
Immediately my packing task was begun. But imagine
my disappointment, just as I had finished one
trunk, to hear mother announce her determination
to let us go alone, while she remained with Lilly!
Prayers, entreaties, tears, arguments, all failed; and
we were forced to submit. So with a heart fuller
than I can express, I repacked the trunk with
Miriam's and my clothing, and got ready to depart.
In the evening the carriage drove up to the door
with Eliza and her grandmother, and with a hasty
and rather choky good-bye to Lilly and mother, we
were hurried in, and in another moment were off.

I fancied the house would be north of Clinton,
so of course the horses took the road south. Then I

decided on a white cottage to the left of the road,
and about two miles out, found that it was to the
right, not painted, and no cottage at all, but a
non-descript building, besides. "T was ever thus
from childhood's hour!" When did I ever fancy
anything exactly as it was? But the appearance
does not affect the house, which is really very
comfortable, though apparently unfinished. The
same objection might be made to it that I made to
Mrs. Moore's, for there is not a shutter on the place.
But fine shade trees take their place, and here I do
not feel the want of them so much, as our room is in
the back of the house, to the west, where the rising
sun cannot salute my nose as it did at Mrs. Moore's.
As to what effect the setting sun has, I must wait for
the evening to decide, though I always enjoy that.
At Greenwell, we used to walk a mile away from
home to see the sun set in an open field.

I find Mrs. McCay an excellent, plain old
lady, with neither airs nor pretentions, and
very kindhearted. Here she lives alone, with
the exception of an orphan girl called Jane,
whose position, half-menial, half-equal, it
would be hard to define. Poor girl! the name
of orphan alone was enough to make me sorry
for her. She must be "Friday's child"! she is so
"ready and willing." Eliza, who it seems stays a
great deal with her grandmother, is one of the
brightest little girls I have seen for a long while.
She sings and plays on the piano with a style and
assurance that I can only mutely covet. Why cannot

I have the confidence I see all others possess?
She took me to the gin-house last evening, though I
could not see much, as it was almost sunset when we
arrived. An early tea, and singing, and music after,
completed our evening, and then we were shown to
our room.

Mrs. McCay has only room for us two, so it is
fortunate that mother would not come. She says
she wants us to spend a few days with her, to see if
we like it, or if we will be willing to be separated
from mother. In the mean time, we can look around
for lodgings in a larger and more comfortable place
where we can be together. She tells such stories
about the house Lilly lives in, of its age, and
unhealthiness, that I am frightened about mother.
She says she will die if she stays there this month.
Miriam and Eliza have gone to town to see them,
and are then going to Mrs. George's to see if she can
accommodate us.

I wanted to have a splendid dream last night, but
failed. It was pleasant, though, to dream of welcoming
George and Gibbes back. Jimmy I could not see;
and George was in deep mourning. I dreamed
of fainting when I saw him (a novel sensation, since
I never experienced it awake), but I speedily came
to, and insisted on his "pulling Henry Walsh's red
hair for his insolence," which he promised to do
instantly. How absurd! Dreams! dreams! That
pathetic "Miss Sarah, do you ever dream?" comes
vividly back to me sometimes. Dream? Don't I!

not the dreams that he meant; but royal, purple
dreams, that De Quincey could not purchase with
his opium; dreams that I would not forego for all the
inducements that could be offered. I go to sleep,
and pay a visit to heaven or fairyland. I have white
wings, and with another, float in rosy clouds, and
look down on the moving world; or I have the power
to raise myself in the air without wings, and
silently float wherever I will, loving all things and
feeling that God loves me. I have heard Paul
preach to the people, while I stood on a fearful rock
above. I have been to strange lands and great
cities; I have talked with people I have never
beheld. Charlotte Brontë has spent a week with me
- in my dreams - and together we have talked of
her sad life. Shakespeare and I have discussed his
works, seated tête-à-tête over a small table. He
pointed out the character of each of his heroines,
explaining what I could not understand when awake;
and closed the lecture with "You have the tenderest
heart I have ever read, or sung of" - which compliment,
considering it as original with him, rather than myself,
waked me up with surprise.

CLINTON, September 9th, Tuesday.

Back again! For how long,
I know not. At
sunset Saturday, Eliza and Miriam returned to
Mrs. McCay's with Nannie Davidson. Mother had
proved obdurate and refused to leave Clinton; so
they had all gone on, and spent the day with Mrs.

Haynes instead of going to Mrs. George's. After
my quiet, solitary day, I was glad to see them again,
particularly as they brought confirmation of the
great victory in Virginia. It is said the enemy were
cut off from Washington, and that we were pursuing
them. O my brothers! If God will only spare them!
I envy Lydia who is so near them, and knows all,
and can take care of them if they are hurt. It will be
several days at least, before we can hear from them,
if we hear at all; for Jimmy has never yet written a
line, and George has written but once since the taking
of the forts, and that was before the battle of
Chickahominy. We can only wait patiently. Perhaps
General Carter will bring us news.

Mrs. Haynes sent a very pressing invitation for
us to spend the next day with her, so, although it
was Sunday, we went. I am becoming dreadfully
irreligious. I have not been to church since Mr.
Gierlow went to Europe last July. It is perfectly
shocking; but the Yankees have kept me running
until all pious dispositions have been shaken out of
me; so they are to blame. Like heathens, we called
on Miss Comstock as we passed through town, and
spent an hour with her. Landed at Mr. Haynes's, we
had ample time to look around before he and his wife
got back from church. Here again I found what seems
to be the prevailing style of the country, widespread
doors and windows, with neither blinds nor shade
trees to keep off the glare of the sun. The
dining-room was a wide hall, where the rising sun

shone in your face at breakfast, and at dinner, being
directly overhead, seemed to shine in at both ends at
once. A splendid arrangement for a Fire Worshiper;
but I happened to be born in America, instead of
Persia, so fail to appreciate it.

September 10th.

Yesterday I was interrupted to undertake a very
important task. The evening before, mother and
Lilly happened to be in a store where two officers
were buying materials for making shirts, and
volunteered to make them for them, which offer they
gladly accepted, though neither party knew the
other. They saw that they were friends of Charlie,
so had no scruples about offering their services; the
gentlemen saw that they were ladies, and very kind
ones, besides, so made no difficulty about accepting.
Lilly undertook one of purple merino, and I took a
dark blue one. Miriam nominally helped her; but
her very sore finger did not allow her to do much.
Mother slightly assisted me; but I think Lilly and I
had the best of the task. All day we worked, and
when evening came, continued sewing by the light
of these miserable home-made candles. Even then
we could not finish, but had to get up early this
morning, as the gentlemen were to leave for Port
Hudson at nine o'clock. We finished in good time,
and their appearance recompensed us for our
trouble. Lilly's was trimmed with folds of blue
from mine, around collar, cuffs, pockets, and down
the front band; while mine was pronounced a

chef d'æuvre, trimmed with bias folds of tiny red
and
black plaid. With their fresh colors and shining
pearl buttons, they were really very pretty. We
sent word that we would be happy to make as many
as they chose for themselves or their friends, and the
eldest, with many fears that it was an "imposition"
and we were "too good," and much more of the same
kind, left another one with Charlie for us. We cannot
do too much, or even enough, for our soldiers. I
believe that is the universal sentiment of the women
of the South.

Well, but how did we get back here? I hardly
know. It seems to me we are being swayed by some
kind of destiny which impels us here or there, with
neither rhyme nor reason, and whether we will or no.
Such homeless, aimless, purposeless, wandering
individuals are rarely seen. From one hour to another,
we do not know what is to become of us. We
talk vaguely of going home "when the Yankees go
away." When will that be? One day there is not a
boat in sight; the next, two or three stand off from
shore to see what is being done, ready, at the first
sight of warlike preparation, to burn the town down.
It is particularly unsafe since the news from Virginia,
when the gunboats started from Bayou Goula,
shelling the coast at random, and destroying everything
that was within reach, report says. Of course,
we cannot return to our homes when commissioned
officers are playing the part of pirates, burning
plundering, and destroying at will, with neither law

nor reason. Donaldsonville they burned before I
left Baton Rouge, because some fool fired a shotgun
at a gunboat some miles above; Bayou Sara they
burned while we were at General Carter's, for some
equally reasonable excuse. The fate of Baton Rouge
hangs on a still more slender thread. I would give
worlds if it were all over.

At Mrs. Haynes's we remained all night, as she
sent the carriage back without consulting us. Monday
we came to town and spent the day with Lilly.
How it was, I can't say; but we came to the conclusion
that it was best to quit our then residence, and
either go back to Linwood or to a Mrs. Somebody
who offered to take us as boarders. We went back
to Mrs. McCay's, to tell her of our determination,
and in the morning took leave of her and came back
home.

We hear so much news, piece by piece, that one
would imagine some definite result would follow,
and bring us Peace before long. The Virginia news,
after being so great and cheering, has suddenly
ceased to come. No one knows the final result. The
last report was that we held Arlington Heights.
Why not Washington, consequently? Cincinnati
(at last accounts) lay at our mercy. From Covington,
Kirby Smith had sent over a demand for its
surrender in two hours. Would it not be glorious to
avenge New Orleans by such a blow? But since last
night the telegraph is silent.

between our militia in Opelousas and the Yankees
from New Orleans, in which we gave them a good
thrashing, besides capturing arms, prisoners, and
ammunition. "It never rains but it pours" is George's
favorite proverb. With it comes the "rumor" that the
Yankees are preparing to evacuate the city. If it
could be! Oh, if God would only send them back to
their own country, and leave ours in peace! I wish
them no greater punishment than that they may be
returned to their own homes, with the disgrace of
their outrages here ever before their eyes. That
would kill an honest man, I am sure.

Sunday, September 14th, 1862.

I have been so busy making Lieutenant Bourge's
shirt that I have not had time to write, besides having
very little to write about. So my industry saved
my paper and spared these pages a vast amount of
trash. I would not let any one touch Lieutenant
Bourge's shirt except myself; and last evening,
when I held it up completed, the loud praises it
received satisfied me it would answer. Miriam and
Miss Ripley declared it the prettiest ever made. It
is dark purple merino. The bosom I tucked with
pleats a quarter of an inch deep, all the way up to
the collar, and stitched a narrow crimson silk braid
up the centre to hold it in its place. Around the
collar, cuffs, pockets, and band down the front, the
red cord runs, forming a charming contrast to the

dark foundation. Indeed, I devoted the sole article
the Yankees let fall from my two workboxes - a
bunch of soutache - to the work. Large white
pearl buttons completed the description, and my
shirt is really as quiet, subdued, and pretty a one as
I ever saw. I should first hear the opinion of the
owner, though. If he does not agree with all the
others, I shall say he has no taste.

I got a long sweet letter from Sophie on Friday
that made me happy for the whole day. They were
about leaving for Alexandria. I was glad to hear
they would be out of danger, but still I was sorry
they were going so far away. I have been laying a
hundred wild schemes to reach Baton Rouge and
spend a day or two with them, which is impossible
now. Sophie writes just as she talks - and that
means remarkably well, so I can at least have the
pleasure of corresponding. At Dr. Carnal's they
will be out of the reach of all harm and danger; so I
ought to rejoice. There is one thing in which Sophie
and I agree, and that is in making Stonewall Jackson
our hero. Talk of Beauregard! he never had
my adoration; but Stonewall is the greatest man
of the age, decidedly.

Still no authentic reports of the late battles in
Virginia. I say late, referring to those fought two
weeks ago. From the Federal accounts, glowing as
they usually are, I should gather the idea that their
rout was complete. I cannot imagine why we can
hear nothing more from our own side. . . .

I think my first act on my return home will be to
take a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, two
luxuries of which I have been deprived for a long
while. Miriam vows to devour an unheard-of number
of biscuits, too. How many articles we considered
as absolutely necessary, before, have we now been
obliged to dispense with! Nine months of the year
I reveled in ice, thought it impossible to drink water
without it. Since last November, I have tasted it
but once, and that once by accident. And oh, yes!
I caught some hail-stones one day at Linwood!
Ice-cream, lemonade, and sponge cake was my
chief diet; it was a year last July since I tasted the
two first, and one since I have seen the last. Bread
I believed necessary to life; vegetables, senseless.
The former I never see, and I have been forced into
cultivating at least a toleration of the latter. Snap beans
I can actually swallow, sweet potatoes I really like,
and one day at Dr. Nolan's I "bolted" a mouthful
of tomatoes, and afterwards kept my seat with the
heroism of a martyr. These are the minor trials of
war. If that were all - if coarse, distasteful food
were the only inconvenience!

When I think of what Lavinia must suffer so far
from us, and in such ignorance of our condition, our
trials seem nothing in comparison to hers. And
think how uneasy Brother must be, hearing of the
battle, and not knowing where we fled to! For he
has not heard of us for almost two months. In return
we are uneasy about him and Sister. If New Orleans

Yesterday Miriam determined to go to Linwood,
and consequently I had a severe task of trunk-packing,
one of my greatest delights, however. I hate to
see any one pack loosely or in a slovenly
manner. Perhaps that is the reason I never let any
one do it if I am able to stand. This morning was
appointed as our day for leaving, but I persuaded
her to wait until to-morrow, in hope that either the
General, or news from Virginia, would arrive this
evening. Bless this village! It is the meanest place
for news that I ever was in. Not a word can be
gathered, except what is false or unfounded; and
they are even tired of that, in the last few days.

Talk of Baton Rouge turning Yankee, as the
report went here! Of the three or four there who
took the oath, not one can be compared to some
loyal citizens of this small burg. Why, I talked to two
gentlemen yesterday who, if it were not for the
disgrace and danger incurred by bearing the name,
I should style Union men, and talked or rather listened
to them, until my spirits were reduced to the lowest
ebb. People were shocked at our daring to believe
there lived gentlemen and Christians in the North -
I mean those wild fanatics, who could only take in
one idea at a time, and rarely divested their brains
of that one to make room for a newer one, were
shocked at our belief; but if they could converse

with a few here, that I could point out, our gnat of
common sense would be swallowed by this behemoth
of heterodoxy.

This morning Mrs. Bar, Miss Bernard, and a
Miss Mud came to town and surprised us by a most
unexpected visit. They spent the day with us, and have
just now driven off on their return home, through
this drizzly, misting evening. A while ago a large
cavalry company passed, at the corner, on their way
from Port Hudson to Camp Moore, the report is.
They raised their hats to us, seeing us at the gate;
and we waved our handkerchiefs in return, each
with a silent "God bless you," I am sure.

As though to prove my charge unjust, news comes
pouring in. Note we a few items, to see how many
will prove false. First, we have taken Baltimore
without firing a gun; Maryland has risen en masse to
join our troops; Longstreet and Lee are marching on
Washington from the rear; the Louisiana troops are
ordered home to defend their own State - thank
God! if it will only bring the boys back! Then
comes tidings of nine gunboats at Baton Rouge;
Ponchatoula on the railroad taken by Yankees; Camp
Moore and three batteries, ditto. Not so cheering!
If that is so, Clinton lies within reach, being thirty-five
miles off.

Leaving much the most valuable portion of
our clothing here, the Yankees will probably
appropriate what little they spared us and leave
us fairly destitute; for we take only summer clothes to

Linwood. I have plenty of underclothes, but the
other day, when I unpacked the large trunk from Dr.
Enders's, I found I had just two dresses for winter;
a handsome blue silk I bought just two years ago
last spring, and one heavy blue merino that does
not fit me. What an outfit for winter! Miriam has two
poplins and a black silk, and mother a wine-colored
merino, only. But each of us is blessed with a warm
cloak, and are correspondingly grateful. I was
confident I had saved my green, dark blue, and
brown silk dresses, but the Yankees saved them
instead, for me, or their suffering sweethearts, rather.
On the other hand, taking so many necessary articles
to Linwood, the risk of losing them is the same. An
attack on Port Hudson is apprehended, and if it
falls, General Carter's house will be decidedly unsafe
from Yankee vengeance. The probability is that
it will burn, as they have been daily expecting ever
since the Yankees occupied Baton Rouge. The risk
seems equal, either way. Go or stay, the danger
seems the same. Shall we go, then, for variety, or die
here of stagnation while waiting for the Yankees to
make up their minds? I would rather be at neither
place, just now; in fact I could hardly name the
place I should like to be in now, unless it were Europe
or the Sandwich Islands; but I love Linwood and
its dear inhabitants, and under other circumstances
should be only too happy to be there. I was regretting
the other day that our life was now so monotonous;
almost longed for the daily alarms we had when

Still floating about!
This morning after breakfast,
General Carter made his appearance, and in
answer to his question as to whether we were ready
to leave with him, Miriam replied, "Yes, indeed!"
heartily, glad to get away from Clinton, where I
have detained her ever since the day Theodore
returned home, to her great disgust. As our trunk
was already packed, it did not take many minutes
to get ready; and in a little while, with a protracted
good-bye, we were on our way to the depot, which
we reached some time before the cars started.
Though glad to leave Clinton, I was sorry to part
with mother. For ten days she has been unable to
walk, with a sore on her leg below the knee; and I
want to believe she will miss me while I am away. I
could not leave my bird in that close, ill-ventilated
house. He has never sung since I recovered him;
and I attribute his ill health or low spirits to that
unhealthy place, and thought Linwood might be
beneficial to him, too; so brought him with me, to
see what effect a breath of pure air might have.

We were the only ladies on the cars, except
Mrs. Brown, who got off halfway; but in spite of that,
had a very pleasant ride, as we had very agreeable
company. The train only stopped thirteen times in
the twenty miles. Five times to clear the brushwood

from the telegraph lines, once running back a mile
to pick up a passenger, and so on, to the great
indignation of many of the passengers aboard,
who would occasionally cry out, "Hello! if this is
the 'clearing-up' train, we had better send for a
hand-car!" "What the devil's the matter now?"
until the General gravely assured them that it was
an old habit of this very accommodating train, which
in summer-time stopped whenever the passengers
wished to pick blackberries on the road.

Many soldiers were aboard on their way to Port
Hudson, to rejoin their companies. One gallant one
offered me a drink of water from his canteen, which
I accepted out of mere curiosity to see what water
from such a source tasted of. To my great surprise,
I found it tasted just like any other. The General
introduced a Mr. Crawford to us, who took the seat
next to me, as the one next to Miriam was already
occupied, and proved a very pleasant and talkative
compagnon de voyage. General Carter's query as to
my industry since he had seen me, brought my
acknowledgment of having made two shirts, one of
which I sent yesterday. Who to? was the next
question. I gave the name, adding that I did not
know the gentleman, and he was under the impression
that it was made by mother. "I'll see that he is
undeceived!" cried the General. "Hanged if I don't
tell him!" "Thirtieth Louisiana, you say?" queried
Mr. Crawford. "That is the very one I am going
to! I will tell him myself!" So my two zealous

champions went on, the General ending with "See
to it, Crawford; Mrs. Morgan shall not have the
credit!" as though there was any great merit in
sewing for one's countrymen! Our new acquaintance
handed me from the cars as we reached Linwood,
and stood talking while the accommodating train
slowly rolled out its freight. He told me he was
going to send me a tiny sack of coffee, which proposition,
as it did not meet with the slightest encouragement,
will of course never be thought of again.

I noticed, too, on the train, one of the Arkansas's
crew. The same who, though scarcely able to stand
on a severely wounded foot, made such a fuss about
riding in a carriage while "real ladies" had to walk.
Of course he did not recognize us, any more than we
would have known him if Dr. Brown had not pointed
him out. I hear all of them are at Port Hudson.
Anna told me, as we got here, that Dr. Addison (the
one I disliked because he was so scrupulously neat
while the others were dressed, or rather undressed,
for working) was here yesterday, and inquired for
the Miss Morgans, saying they were the most
charming young ladies he had ever met. On what he
founded his opinion, or how he happened to inquire
for us in this part of the country, I cannot imagine.

The General brings news of the boys from
Jackson. He there met an officer who left Stonewall
Jackson's command on the 2d inst., and says Gibbes
was unhurt, God be praised! Another saw George a
week ago in Richmond, still lame, as the cap of his

knee had slipped in that fall last spring. Of Jimmy
we hear not a word, not even as to where he is. It
seems as though we are destined never to hear
again.

September 20th, Saturday.

General Carter has just received a letter from
Lydia, which contains what to me is the most
melancholy intelligence - the news of the death of
Eugene Fowler,1 who
was killed on the 22d of
August, in some battle or skirmish in Virginia.
Poor Eugene! . . . Does it not seem that this war
will sweep off all who are nearest and dearest, as well
as most worthy of life, leaving only those you least
care for, unharmed?

September 21st.

After supper last night,
by way of variety,
Anna, Miriam, and I came up to our room, and after
undressing, commenced popping corn and making
candy in the fireplace. We had scarcely commenced
when three officers were announced, who found
their way to the house to get some supper, they
having very little chance of reaching Clinton before
morning, as the cars had run off the track. Of course,
we could not appear; and they brought bad luck with
them, for our corn would not pop, and our candy
burned, while to add to our distress the odor of
broiled chicken and hot biscuit was wafted upstairs,
after a while, in the most provoking way. In vain
we sent the most pathetic appeals by each servant,

for a biscuit apiece, after our hard work. Mrs.
Carter was obdurate until, tired out with our
messages, she at last sent us an empty jelly-cup,
a shred of chip beef, two polished drumsticks, and
half a biscuit divided in three. With that bountiful
repast we were forced to be content and go to bed.

At sunrise this morning, Mrs. Carter left to go
down to her father in Iberville, to see her step-mother
who is expected to die. Scarcely had she
gone when six more officers and soldiers came in
from the still stationary cars to get their breakfast.
We heard that Mr. Marsden, too, was down there,
so the General sent him a nice breakfast, and I sent
my love with it; but he had already breakfasted at
Mr. Elder's. As soon as they left, we prepared for
church, and just as we were ready, Captain Brown
and Mr. Addison were announced. The Doctor
greeted us with an elegant bow, but they did not
remain long, as we were about going out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Many officers were in church, and as I passed out,
Colonel Breaux joined me, and escorted Miriam and
me to the carriage, where we stood talking some
time under the trees before getting in. He gave us a
most pressing invitation to name a day to visit the
camp that he might "have the pleasure of showing
us the fortifications," and we said we would beg the
General's permission to do so. Charming Colonel
Breaux! Like all nice men, he is married, of course.
He and another officer drove just behind our carriage

in coming home, until we came to the fork of
the road. Then, leaning from their buggy, both
gentlemen bowed profoundly, which we as cordially
returned. Two more behind followed their example,
and to our great surprise, ten, who were seated in a
small wagon drawn by two diminutive mules, bowed
also, and, not content with that, rose to their feet as
the distance between the two roads increased, and
raised their caps, though in the most respectful
silence. Rather queer; and I would have said impertinent
had they been any others than Confederates fighting
for us, who, of course, are privileged people.

September 24th.

Yesterday the General saluted us with "Young
ladies, if you will ride in a Confederate carriage,
you may go to dress parade this evening." Now, in
present phraseology, "Confederate" means anything
that is rough, unfinished, unfashionable, or poor.
You hear of Confederate dresses, which means last
year's. Confederate bridle means a rope halter.
Confederate silver, a tin cup or spoon. Confederate
flour is corn meal, etc. In this case the Confederate
carriage is a Jersey wagon with four seats, a top of
hickory slats covered with leather, and the whole
drawn by mules. We accepted gladly, partly for
the ride and sight, partly to show we were not
ashamed of a very comfortable conveyance; so
with Mrs. Badger as chaperon, we went off in grand
style. I must say I felt rather abashed and wished

myself at home as we drove into town, and had the
gaze of a whole regiment riveted on us. But soon
the men fell in line, and I did not feel so painfully
conspicuous. I was amused at a contrast near by,
too. There was but one carriage present, besides
ours, though there were half a dozen ladies on
horseback. This carriage was a very fine one, and
in it sat three of the ugliest, dowdiest, worst dressed
females I ever saw. We three girls sat in our rough
carriage as comfortable as could be, dressed-well,
we could not have been dressed better - and looking
our very best. Sans mentir, I think the Confederates
were much the most respectable.

And what a sad sight the Fourth Louisiana was,
that was then parading! Men that had fought at
Shiloh and Baton Rouge were barefooted. Rags
was their only uniform, for very few possessed a
complete suit, and those few wore all varieties of
colors and cuts. Hats could be seen of every style
and shape, from the first ever invented down to the
last one purchased evidently some time since. Yet
he who had no shoes looked as happy as he who had,
and he who had a cap had something to toss up,
that's all.

Four or five that we knew gathered around our
vehicle and talked to us. Mr. Heuston told me he
heard I had been thrown, severely injured, had a
narrow escape, etc. Was not thrown! Saddle
turned. A few steps off we recognized Mr. Scales.
He would stare very hard at us, and if we turned

towards him, would look quickly the other way as
though afraid to meet our gaze. Presently he gave us
an opportunity, and we bowed. He came forward
eagerly, blushing deeply, and looking very much
pleased, and shook hands with us, and remained
some time talking. He said he had not heard of our
arrival, but would call as soon as possible. Mr.
Talbot had joined Breckinridge.

Having seen the last of that parade, he invited us
to see that of his sailors, which was next; but it was
too far; so we turned off to see Colonel Breaux's, a
mile away. His, the Thirtieth Louisiana, is a beautiful
encampment on a large open common. Parade
was almost over as we reached there, and soon the
Colonel came to meet us. I did not look at the drill.
I was watching the hundreds of tents - it looked
like a great many - and was wondering how men
could live in such places, and was trying to fancy
what George's or Gibbes's looked like. It was
pleasant to watch the barefoot soldiers race
around like boys let loose from school, tossing
caps and chips at two old gray geese that flew
in circles around the encampment, just as though
they had never had more earnest work. One
gray-headed man stood in the door of his tent,
while a black-headed young one danced before
him, to his own whistle, with his arms akimbo.
Altogether it was a very pretty picture; but poor
men! how can they be happy in these tents?

Page 236

Sarah Morgan. X.

September 26th, Friday.

My mark finds me at Linwood, though I had not
the slightest idea that it would. Wonder where
twenty pages beyond will find me? At home, I hope
and pray, though I am as happy here as I could
possibly be in any place on earth.

Stirring news from our armies comes pouring in.
Sunday, Colonel Breaux told me of Wool's defeat,
and the great number of prisoners, cannon, and the
large supplies of stores and ammunition that we had
captured. Then Tuesday we heard of three great
battles in Maryland, the third one still continuing;
but no particulars of any of them. Yesterday came
tidings of our having recrossed the Potomac, and
to-day we hear that McClellan's army has been cut
to pieces; but whether it is the same old fight or a
new one, I cannot as yet learn; for reliable information
is not easily obtained in America at this period.

Did I ever record how little truth there was in
any of that last Clinton news? It speaks for itself,
though. Not a boat lay at Baton Rouge; Camp
Moore was not even threatened; Ponchatoula
Station was burned, but the one battery was
retaken by our men the same night.

But still these false reports cannot equal the
Yankees'. Take, for instance, the report of the
Captain of the Essex. I give General Carter as my
authority. The Captain reports having been fired
on by a battery of thirty-six large guns, at Port

Hudson, some weeks ago, when he opened fire and
silenced them, one after the other, from the first to
the last. Not a shot from the "rebel" batteries
reached them, and not a casualty on their side
occurred. But the loss of the Confederates must
have been awful. He came within - I forget how
many - yards from the shore, and there was not a
live man to be seen. He did not mention if there
were any dead ones! Now for the other side. There
were but four guns mounted there at the time.
Shot and shell from those four certainly reached
something, for one was seen to enter a porthole, from
whence issued frightful shrieks soon after, and it is
well known that the Essex is so badly injured by
"something" as to be in a sinking condition, and
only kept afloat by a gunboat lashed on either side.
If she is uninjured, why did she not return and burn
Natchez as she announced? In leaving Port Hudson,
where "not a live man was to be seen" (nor a dead
one to be found), she stopped at Mr. Babin's, just
below Dr. Nolan's, where she remained the rest of
the day. After she left, being curious to discover the
reason of her short stay, Mr. Babin walked to the
place where she had been, and discovered sixteen
fresh graves on the bank. If they buried them as
they did at Baton Rouge and Vicksburg, four in a
grave, how many would they be? But granting
there were but sixteen, would that prove the
veracity of the Captain? Poor man! Perhaps
he is related to Pope, and cannot help himself.

I often wonder how lies first came into the world,
and whether those who originate them do not believe
them as firmly as any one else would believe truth.
Lying seems to be the common creed of children
and servants.

Anna told me of having heard Lennice telling
the other servants that she knew there were spirits,
because I often talked to them. Every morning and
evening I walked to the graveyard with a basket of
flowers, and would sit by father's and Harry's
graves and call their spirits to me; and they would
all fly to me, and talk and sing with me for hours
until I would tell them good-bye and go home,
when they would go away too. I suppose the ignorant
girl, having foundation enough from my frequent
visits there, which were most often alone, made
up the rest to account for my never seeming
to like company out there. The fervent "Good
Lord" with which the tale was received by the
other servants, and the full credence they gave it,
might have proved unpleasant if further circulated;
and I believe some members of the family found it
necessary to put an end to it at once.

And speaking of the graveyard recalls something
I heard for the first time last night. Miriam was
telling me that Tiche had asked if we knew that Mr.
Sparks had visited Harry's grave? That he had got
a basket of flowers from the Davidsons, and had
made their driver carry it for him. And the man had

told her that, after filling the vases with roses, and
spreading them over the grave, he had thrown
himself on it with a shriek of despair, calling on Harry
to forgive him; that it was only because forced by
his father that he had killed him; and calling on God
to prove that he would give his life gladly to recall
Harry's. The man thought him a raving maniac and
fled in terror. Miriam asked Fanny if it was true,
and she said yes; she had gathered the flowers for
him herself.

I saw them there, but little knew whose hand had
brought them. I perceived at once that they were
not mine, and touched even to tears by so silent an
offering from an unknown person, I said, "It is some
woman's work; God bless the hand that laid them
there." I cannot say how much that little tribute
affected me. And, Mr. Sparks, I do not retract the
blessing now. No! "God have mercy on him!" has
been my prayer ever since I knew what an awful loss
you had caused us. God knows that I never even
desired this revenge - remorse standing over his
grave. It has ever been, "God pity and forgive!" -
never yet for an instant, "God pursue and avenge!"

September 28th.

We were roused up at four o'clock last night by
the arrival of Lydia and Eugene Carter,1 the first
from Virginia and the second from Tennessee; and,

of course, there was very little sleep for any of us,
so anxious were we to hear the news they brought.
First I learned that Gibbes was safe up to the 17th;
that George, in spite of the advice of his surgeon,
had rejoined Stonewall Jackson in Maryland; and
Jimmy was midshipman on the ironclad Palmetto
State at Charleston. How thankful I was to hear
that much, I need not say. Lydia said they all
three looked remarkably well; Jimmy handsomer
than ever. After that, news of all kinds came
indiscriminately. The boys were very anxious
about us, but had no idea of our misfortunes or
whereabouts. They believed us still in Baton Rouge,
and feared we had been there during the battle. Lydia
only heard of our house having been plundered when
she reached Alabama, so of course they are still ignorant
of it. They were all very homesick, but said that we
were their only trouble.

A few of the C-s' stories had reached them
through brother officers; and George swore to make
himself understood by those ladies if he ever saw
them again. A gentleman from Cooper's Wells told
Lydia that they never tired of repeating their stories
to every new arrival; and no man was suffered to
depart without having heard a few. If a gentleman
friend of ours or the boys inquired if they knew the
Miss Morgans of Baton Rouge, "Oh, yes!" would be
the answer, "intimately! But you know they have
turned Yankee. Received Federal officers every day,
and placed all their property under Yankee protection.

I" (or "my sister," as it happened who was
retailing the lie, meaning Mrs. S-) "slept in
their house when it was surrounded by a
Yankee guard. Oh, they are perfectly in favor
of the Yankees," and so on. Think of a common,
low soldier who stopped for buttermilk somewhere
where Anna was, introducing the subject. "It is all
false!" Anna interrupted. The man answered, "Oh,
Miss! you don't suppose we believe it? We would
not believe such stories of any young ladies, much
less these; for if they are true, their conduct must
have been perfectly disgraceful. But though we know
these stories to be lies, it does not prevent their being
discussed in camp." . . .

Lydia saw Mr. McG-, too, at Lynchburg, who
sent me his "regards." Poor fellow! He says he still
has "dreams"! He told her a few, but she says they
were chiefly about meeting me at a ball, when I
always treated him with the most freezing coldness.
The same old nightmare. How often he has told
me of that same dream, that tormented him eighteen
months ago. He says he often thinks of me now
- and he still "dreams" of me! "Dreams are baseless
fabrics whose timbers are mere moonbeams."
Apply your own proverb! . . .

A clatter of hoofs down the road! And bent over
the window-sill which is my desk, my fingers are not
presentable with the splattering of this vile pen in
consequence of my position. Two hours yet before
sundown, so of course I am not dressed. They come

nearer still. Now I see them! Dr. Addison and Mr.
M-! I shall not hurry my toilet for them. It will take
some time to comb my hair, too. Wish I could
remain up here!

Tuesday, September 30th.

It required very little
persuasion to induce those
gentlemen to stay to supper, the other evening, and
it was quite late before they took their leave. Dr.
Addison I was very much pleased with, and so were
all the rest. Mr. M-, none of us fell desperately
in love with. He is too nonchalant and indifferent,
besides having a most peculiar pronunciation which
grated harshly on my ears, and that no orthography
could fully express. "Garb," for instance, was
distorted into "gairb," "yard" into "yaird," "Airkansas,"
and all such words that I can only imitate by a
violent dislocation of my lower jaw that puts Anna
into convulsions of laughter - only she would laugh
the same if it was not funny. This Kentuckian
pronunciation grates "hairshly" on my Southern ears.
Miriam addressed herself exclusively to the Doctor,
so I was obliged to confine my attention entirely to
neglected Mr. M-, in which pious duty I was
ably and charitably seconded by the General.
Speaking of the bravery and daring displayed by the
Southern soldiers during this war, Mr. M- mentioned
the dangerous spot he had seen us in the first
day we went down to the "Airkansas" and said
that, Iying directly across the point from the Essex,
they expected every instant to see one of her shells

explode among us, and were very uneasy about our
position, as we did not seem to know the danger. I
asked him if he had observed anything peculiar
among the dozen planters and overseers standing a
short distance from us, when the Captain sent us
word that our position was a very dangerous one, as
they expected the Essex to open fire every instant,
and we had best stand below the levee, higher up,
where we would be safe from shells. "I noticed that
before any of you understood your position, every
man had disappeared as though by magic." Now
I had noticed that myself. When I turned, under
shelter of the levee, our gallant planters were
galloping off in the distance. While Ginnie and I
looked and laughed, we suddenly found ourselves
the sole objects on the horizon; the other girls were
in the road below, going carelessly toward the
carriage; so we followed, having lost sight of the brave
representatives of Southern chivalry, being the last to
leave the supposed field of danger. To my former remark,
let me add that there is only one set who take better
care for their safety than married women; and that
set is composed exclusively of the "Home Guard."
Timid girls, either through ignorance or fun, compose
the majority of the brave "men" that the volunteer
service has not absorbed.

October 1st, Wednesday.

Just after sunset
yesterday, Anna and I were
walking down the road towards the sugar-house, she

reading occasionally from Abbott's "Napoleon,"
and then pausing for me to explain the very difficult
passages she could not understand, when we
suddenly became aware of the approach of a horse,
and raising our bowed heads, beheld Colonel Breaux
and another before us, to our infinite surprise and
astonishment. The Colonel sprang from his horse and
advanced on foot; his companion slowly followed his
example, and was introduced as Captain Morrison.
We adjourned our historical fit for some future
period, and walked home with the gentlemen.
Miriam did not get back from her excursion to the
cane-patch until it was quite late; when after sitting
down a few moments, she ran upstairs to change her
dress. She had just put it on an hour before, but
nothing would do but she must dress up fine; so she
put on her handsomest organdie. In vain I pointed
to my simple pink muslin with a white body that I
had worn all day, and begged she would not make
the contrast between us more striking than ever, as
I felt I could not change it without exciting remark.
She was obdurate; dressed herself in gorgeous array,
and, as usual, I looked like her lady's maid.

Colonel Breaux paid my hair the most
extravagant compliments. He said he could not
say his prayers for looking at it in church, Sunday
before last. Perhaps that is the reason St. Paul said
a woman should not worship in church with her head
uncovered! But as the Yankees stole my bonnet, I
am reduced to wearing my black straw walking-hat

with its curled brim, trimmed in black ribbon with
golden sheaves of wheat. Two years ago this fall,
father threw me a banknote at table, and I purchased
this with it. Now it is my only headgear, except
a sunbonnet. Before leaving, which was not
until quite late, this evening was named for our
ride to the fortifications, to our infinite delight, as
we have dreamed and talked of nothing else for a
week. . . .

A dispatch just received from Gibbes, from
Mobile, on his way home. I am so happy! But what
can bring him? I fear -

Lydia has gone to Clinton to meet him at Lilly's.

October 2d, Thursday.

With what extraordinary
care we prepared for
our ride yesterday! One would have thought that
some great event was about to take place. But in
spite of our long toilet, we stood ready equipped
almost an hour before Colonel Breaux arrived. I
was standing in a novel place - upon the bannisters
looking over the fields to see if he was coming -
and, not seeing him, made some impatient
exclamation, when lo! he appeared before me,
having only been concealed by the wood-pile, and
O my prophetic soul! Captain Morrison was by
his side!

There was quite a cavalcade of us: Mr. Carter
and his wife, Mrs. Badger and Mrs. Worley, in two
buggies; the three boys, who, of course, followed on
horseback, and the two gentlemen, Miriam, Anna,

and I, riding also. It was really a very pretty sight,
when Captain Morrison and I, who took the lead
going, would reach the top of one of the steep hills
and look down on the procession in the hollow below.
Fortunately it was a very cloudy evening; for, starting
at four, it would have been very unpleasant to
ride that distance with the sun in our faces.

As we reached the town we heard the loud report
of two cannon which caused the elder ladies to halt
and suggest the propriety of a return. But if it was
a gunboat, that was the very thing I was anxious to
see; so we hurried on to the batteries. It proved to
be only practicing, however. At the first one we
stopped at, the crew of the Arkansas were drilling.
After stopping a while there, we followed the river
to see the batteries below. It was delightful to ride
on the edge of a high bluff with the muddy Mississippi
below, until you fancied what would be the
probable sensation if the horse should plunge down
into the waters; then it ceased to be so pleasant.
The great, strong animal I rode could have carried
me over without a protest on my part; for the ridiculous
bit in his mouth was by no means suited to his
strength; and it would require a more powerful arm
than mine to supply the deficiency. Miriam had
generously sacrificed her own comfort to give him to
me; and rode fiery Joe instead of her favorite. But
it was by no means a comfort to me. Then Anna
was not reconciled to her pony while I was on such a
fine horse, until I proposed an exchange, and gladly

dismounted near an old mill two miles and a half
below Port Hudson, as we returned home.

In leaving the town, we lost sight of the buggies,
as there was no carriage road that might follow the
bluff; and though there was one just back, we never
saw our buggies again. Once, following a crescent,
far below us lay the water battery concealed by the
trees that grew by the water's edge, looking, from
where we stood, like quite a formidable precipice.
Then still beyond, after leaving the river, we passed
through a camp where the soldiers divided their
attention equally between eating their supper and
staring at us in the most profound silence. Then,
through an old gate, down a steep hill, past a long
line of rifle-pits, a winding road, and another camp
where more men stared and cooked their supper,
we came to the last battery but one, which lay so far
below that it was too late to visit it. We returned
highly delighted with what we had seen and our
pleasant ride. It was late when we got back, as
altogether our ride had been some fifteen miles in
length. As soon as we could exchange our habits
for our evening dresses, we rejoined our guests at
the supper-table, where none of us wanted for an
appetite except poor Captain Morrison, who could
not be tempted by the dishes we so much relished.
After supper, Colonel Breaux and I got into a
discussion, rather, he talked, while I listened with
eyes and ears, with all my soul. . . . What would I not
give for such knowledge! He knows everything, and

can express it all in the clearest, purest language,
though he says he could not speak a word of English
at fourteen!

The discussion commenced by some remark I
made about physiognomy; he took it up, and passed
on to phrenology - in which he is no great believer.
From there he touched on the mind, and I listened,
entranced, to him. Presently he asserted that I
possessed reasoning faculties, which I fear me I very
rudely denied. You see, every moment the painful
conviction of my ignorance grew more painful still,
until it was most humiliating; and I repelled it rather
as a mockery. He described for my benefit the process
of reasoning, the art of thinking. I listened more
attentively still, resolving to profit by his words. . . .
Then he turned the conversation on quite another
theme. Health was the subject. He delicately
alluded to my fragile appearance, and spoke of the
necessity of a strong constitution to sustain a vigorous
mind. If the mind prevailed over the weak body,
in its turn it became affected by decay, and would
eventually lose its powers. It was applicable to all
cases; he did not mean that I was sickly, but that
my appearance bespoke one who had not been used
to the exercise that was most necessary for me.
Horseback rides, walks, fresh air were necessary to
preserve health. No man had greater disgust for a
freckled face than he; but a fair face could be
preserved by the most ordinary precautions and even
improved by such exercise. He illustrated my case

by showing the difference between the flower growing
in the sunshine and that growing in a cellar. Father's
own illustration and very words, when he so
often tried to impress on me the necessity of gaining
a more robust frame than nature had bestowed!
And a letter he had made Hal write me, showing
the danger of such neglect, rose before me. I forgot
Colonel Breaux; I remembered only the ardent
desire of those two, who seemed to speak to me
through his lips. It produced its effect. I felt the
guilt I had incurred by not making greater efforts to
gain a more robust frame; and putting on my
sunbonnet as I arose from the breakfast-table this
morning, I took my seat here on the wide balcony
where I have remained seated on the floor ever
since, with a chair for a desk, trying to drink an
extra amount of fresh air.

I was sorry when Colonel Breaux arose to take
his leave. As he took my hand, I said earnestly,
"Thank you for giving me something to think
about." He looked gratified, made some pleasant
remark, and after talking a while longer, said
good-night again and rode off. While undressing, Miriam
and I spoke of nothing else. And when I lay down,
and looked in my own heart and saw my shocking
ignorance and pitiful inferiority so painfully evident
even to my own eyes, I actually cried. Why was I
denied the education that would enable me to be the
equal of such a man as Colonel Breaux and the
others? He says the woman's mind is the same as

the man's, originally; it is only education that
creates the difference. Why was I denied that
education? Who is to blame? Have I exerted fully
the natural desire To Know that is implanted in all
hearts? Have I done myself injustice in my self-taught
ignorance, or has injustice been done to me? Where
is the fault, I cried. Have I labored to improve the
few opportunities thrown in my path, to the best
of my ability? "Answer for yourself. With the
exception of ten short months at school, where
you learned nothing except arithmetic, you have
been your own teacher, your own scholar, all your
life, after you were taught by mother the elements
of reading and writing. Give an account of your
charge. What do you know?" Nothing! except that
I am a fool! and I buried my face in the sheet; I
did not like even the darkness to see me in my
humiliation.

October 4th, Saturday.

While Anna and Miriam
went out riding last
evening, just as I put down my pen, I went out for a
solitary walk down the road that Gibbes would have
to pass; but saw nothing of the carriage. When I got
back, they told me he was wounded. My fears were
well founded, then. With what anxiety we waited
for his coming it would be impossible to describe.
Every wagon rattling through the fields made us
stop and listen; every canestalk waving in the
moonlight brought us to our feet.

saw the carriage. I could not sit still. I walked
down the steps and stood under the tree in front,
followed by Anna. I did not like her to stand nearer
the spot where it would stop than I, even. All the
rest remained on the balcony. We did not know
how serious the wound might be; we must be careful.
Eugene Carter advised caution for more reasons
than one. "Look out!" he cried; "suppose it
should be Colonel Breaux?" "Then I am afraid the
Colonel will get a kiss," I answered nervously, shuffling
from one foot to the other. "But suppose it is
Mr. M-?" he persisted. "Oh, thank you for the
caution! I will look carefully before I greet him!" I
returned, moving to the other side, for nearer around
the circle moved the carriage. I heard his voice.

"O Gibbes, where is it?" "Left shoulder; mere
scratch," he answered. The carriage stopped,
"Gibbes! Gibbes!" I cried. "My darling!" and he
had his great strong arm around me; the left was
hanging in a sling. Slowly the others moved down the
steps towards him. What a meeting! My heart was
in my throat, I was so happy. Every one caught the
well hand and kissed him again and again, and every
one shrunk from that left side. I had almost forgotten
my "gear Lygia" in my excitement. We followed
him on the balcony and put him in a chair
near the steps. I pulled off his hat and coat, and
knelt in front of him with my arm across his lap, to
get near enough. Miriam stood on the steps with his
arm around her shoulder, and Lydia near. The others

stood around; altogether, it was a happy group that
performed in the tableau of "The Soldier's Return."
Presently the negroes gathered too. "How is you,
Mass' Gibbes?" in all imaginable keys and accents
was heard, while the Captain shook hands with each
and inquired into their own state of health.

But even wounded soldiers can eat; so supper was
again prepared. I am afraid it gave me too much
pleasure to cut up his food. It was very agreeable to
butter his cornbread, carve his mutton, and spread
his preserves; but I doubt whether it could be so
pleasant to a strong man, accustomed to do such
small services for himself. We listened to him talk
but though it was evident from his slow, deliberate
speech, so different from his ordinary habit, that
he was suffering, yet I felt impatient when he was
interrupted by any commonplace observation by one
of us. I wanted to learn something of his exploits.
Much knowledge I obtained! He was wounded at
Sharpsburg on the 17th September, at nine in the
morning. That is all the information I got concerning
himself. One would imagine that the seventeen
months that have elapsed since we last met had been
passed in a prolonged picnic. Concerning others, he
was quite communicative. Father Hubert told him
he had seen George in the battle, and he had come
out safe. Gibbes did not even know that he was in it,
until then. Our army, having accomplished its object,
recrossed the Potomac, after what was decidedly
a drawn battle. Both sides suffered severely.

Hardly an officer on either side escaped unhurt. Mr.
McGimsey is wounded, and Major Herron reported
killed. I expect the list will contain the names of
many friends when it comes.

I have just come from seeing Gibbes's wound
dressed. If that is a scratch, Heaven defend me
from wounds! A minié ball struck his left shoulder
strap, which caused it to glance, thereby saving the
bone. Just above, in the fleshy part, it tore the flesh
off in a strip three inches and a half by two. Such a
great raw, green, pulpy wound, bound around by a
heavy red ridge of flesh! Mrs. Badger, who dressed
it, turned sick; Miriam turned away groaning; servants
exclaimed with horror; it was the first experience
of any, except Mrs. Badger, in wounds. I wanted
to try my nerves; so I held the towel around his
body and kept the flies off while it was being
washed. He talked all the time, ridiculing the
groans of sympathy over a "scratch," and oh, how
I loved him for his fortitude! It is so offensive that
the water trickling on my dress has obliged me to
change it.

October 6th.

Last night, I actually
drew from Gibbes the
outlines of Jackson's campaign. He told me of some
heroic deeds of his fellow soldiers; but of his own,
not a word. I have seen his name too often in the
papers, to believe that he has no deeds of his own
to relate, if he only would.

It is astonishing what a
quantity of fresh air has
been consumed by me since I formed that wise
resolution. The supply must be largely increased,
to keep up with the demand; perhaps that is the
cause of all these clouds and showers; I must be
making a severe drain on the economy of heaven.
From breakfast to dinner I remain on the balcony,
and read aloud several chapters of the " Mémoires"
of Dumas, by way of practice. A dictionary lies by
me, and I suffer no word to pass without a perfect
definition. Then comes my French grammar, which
I study while knitting or sewing, which takes very
nearly until dinner-time. After that, I do as I please,
either reading or talking, until sunset when we can
ride or walk; the walk being always sweetened with
sugar-cane. The evening we always spend on the
balcony. Is that grand air enough? O mon teint! je
serai joliment brune!

We three girls occupy the same room, since
Gibbes's arrival, and have ever so much fun and not
half enough sleep. I believe the other two complain
of me as the cause; but I plead not guilty. I never
was known to laugh aloud, no matter how intense
might have been my mirth; "it won't come," as
Gibbes murmured last night while reading aloud
Artemus Ward's last letter, when we discovered it
was suppressed laughter, rather than suppressed
pain, that caused him to writhe so. On the other
hand, Anna and Miriam laugh as loud and lustily as

daughters of the Titans - if the respectable
gentlemen had daughters. I confess to doing
more than half the talking, but as to the laugh
that follows, not a bit. Last night I thought they
would go wild, and I too laughed myself into
silent convulsions, when I recited an early effusion
of my poetic muse for their edification. Miriam
made the bedstead prance, fairly, while Anna's
laugh sounded like a bull of Bashan with his
head in a bolster case.

Saturday, October 11th.

Miriam went off to
Clinton before daylight yesterday,
with Mr. Carter and Mrs. Worley. She would
not let me go for fear mother should keep us. At
midnight they got back last night, tired, sleepy, and
half-frozen, for our first touch of cool weather came
in a strong north wind in the evening which grew
stronger and stronger through the night, and they
had worn only muslin dresses. I shall never cease
to regret that I did not go too. Miriam says mother
is looking very sad. Sad, and I am trying to forget
all our troubles, and am so happy here! O mother,
how selfish it was to leave you! I ask myself whether
it were best to stay there where we would only be
miserable without adding anything to your comfort
or pleasure, or to be here, careless and happy while
you are in that horrid hole so sad and lonesome.
According to my theory, Miriam would remind me
that I say it is better to have three miserable persons
than two happy ones whose happiness occasions the

misery of the third. That is my doctrine only in
peculiar cases; it cannot be applied to this one.
I say that if, for example, Miriam and I should love
the same person, while that person loved only me,
rather than make her unhappy by seeing me marry
him, I would prefer making both him and myself
miserable, by remaining single. She says "Fudge!"
which means, I suppose, nonsense. But our happiness
here does not occasion mother's unhappiness.
She would rather see us enjoying ourselves here than
moping there. One proof is, that she did not suggest
our return. She longs to get home, but cannot leave
poor Lilly alone, for Charlie is in Granada. Oh, how
willingly I would return to the old wreck of our home!
All its desolation could not be half so unendurable
as Clinton. But Lilly cannot be left. Poor Lilly!
When I look at her sad young face, my heart bleeds
for her. With five helpless little children to care
for, is she not to be pitied? I think that such a
charge, in such dreadful days, would kill me. How
patiently she bears it!

Thursday, October 16th.

It seems an age since I
have opened this book.
How the time has passed since, I have but a vague
idea, beyond that it has passed very pleasantly. . . .
Once since, I have been with Mrs. Badger to a Mr.
Powell, who has started quite an extensive
shoemaking establishment, in the vain attempt to
get something to cover my naked feet. I am so much

in need that I have been obliged to borrow Lydia's
shoes every time I have been out since she returned.
This was my second visit there, and I have no
greater satisfaction than I had at first. He got my
measure, I got his promise, and that is the end of it,
thus far. His son, a young man of about twenty-four,
had the cap of his knee shot off at Baton Rouge.
Ever since he has been Iying on his couch, unable
to stand; and the probability is that he will never
stand again. Instead of going out to the manufactory,
Mrs. Badger has each time stopped at the
house to see his mother (who, by the way, kissed
me and called me "Sissie," to my great amusement)
and there I have seen this poor young man. He
seems so patient and resigned that it is really edifying
to be with him. He is very communicative, too, and
seems to enjoy company, no matter if he does say
"her'n" and "his'n." Wonder why he doesn't say
"shisen" too? The girls are highly amused at the
description I give of my new acquaintance, but
still more so at Mrs. Badger's account of the
friendship of this poor young cripple, and his
enjoyment of my visits. Of course it is only her own
version, as she is very fond of jokes of all kinds.

Night before last Lydia got playing the piano for
me in the darkened parlor, and the old tunes from
her dear little fingers sent me off in a sea of dreams.
She too caught the vision, and launched off in a
well-remembered quadrille. The same scene flashed
on us, and at each note, almost, we would recall a

little circumstance, charming to us, but unintelligible
to Anna, who occupied the other side. Together
we talked over the dramatis personæ. Mrs.
Morgan, Jr., in dark blue silk with black flounces,
a crimson chenille net on her black hair, sits at the
piano in her own parlor. On the Brussels carpet
stands, among others, Her Majesty, Queen Miriam,
in a lilac silk, with bare neck and arms save for the
protection afforded by a bertha of appliqué lace
trimmed with pink ribbon, with hair à la madonna,
and fastened low on her neck. Is she not handsome
as she stands fronting the folding doors, her hand
in tall Mr. Trezevant's, just as she commences to
dance, with the tip of her black bottine just showing?
Vis-à-vis stands pretty Sophie, with her large,
graceful mouth smiling and showing her pretty
teeth to the best advantage. A low neck and short
sleeved green and white poplin is her dress, while
her black hair, combed off from her forehead
carelessly, is caught by a comb at the back and
falls in curls on her shoulders. A prettier picture
could not be wished for, as she looks around with
sparkling eyes, eager for the dance to begin. There
stands calm Dena in snuff-colored silk, looking so
immeasurably the superior of her partner, who, I
fancy, rather feels that she is the better man of the
two, from his nervous way of shifting from one foot
to the other, without saying a word to her. Nettie,
in lilac and white, stands by the mantel laughing
undisguisedly at her partner, rather than with him, yet

so good-humoredly that he cannot take offense,
but rather laughs with her. Lackadaisical Gertrude,
whose face is so perfect in the daytime, looks pale
and insipid by gaslight, and timidly walks through
the dance. Stout, good-natured Minna smiles and
laughs, never quite completing a sentence, partly
from embarrassment, partly because she hardly
knows how; but still so sweet and amiable that one
cannot find fault with her for so trifling a misfortune.
At this point, Lydia suggests, "And Sarah,
do you forget her?" I laugh; how could I forget?
There she stands in a light blue silk checked in tiny
squares, with little flounces up to her knee. Her
dress fits well, and she wears very pretty sleeves and
collar of appliqué. Lydia asks if that is all, and how
she looks. The same old song, I answer. She is
looking at Miriam just now; you would hardly notice
her, but certainly her hair is well combed. That
is all you can say for her. Who is she dancing with?
A youth fond of "dreams"; futile ones, at that, I
laughingly reply. He must be relating one just now,
for there is a very perceptible curl on her upper lip,
and she is looking at him as though she thought
she was the tallest. Lydia dashes off into a lively
jig. "Ladies to the right!" I cried. She laughed
too, well knowing that that part of the dance was
invariably repeated a dozen times at least. She
looked slyly up: "I am thinking of how many hands
I saw squeezed," she said. I am afraid it did happen,
once or twice.

Eighteen months ago! What a change! One who
was prominent on such occasions - Mr. Sparks -
they tell me is dead. May God have mercy on his
soul, in the name of Jesus Christ! I did not ask
even this revenge.

October 18th, Saturday.

Last night mother arrived
from Clinton with
Gibbes and Lydia, who had gone there the day
before to get her to go to Baton Rouge.

CLINTON,
October 19th, Sunday.

What an unexpected
change! I am surprised
myself! Yesterday as the Baton Rouge party were
about leaving, Miriam thought Lilly would be
lonesome alone here with her sick baby, and
decided that we should leave by the cars, and stay
with her until mother returned. There was no time to
lose; so dressing in haste, we persuaded Anna to
accompany us, and in a few moments stood ready.
We walked down to the overseer's house to wait for
the cars, and passed the time most agreeably in
eating sugar-cane, having brought a little negro
expressly to cut it for us and carry our carpet-bag.
Three young ladies, who expected to be gone from
Saturday until Wednesday, having but one carpet-bag
between them! Can it be credited? But, then, we
knew we had clothes here, and depended upon them
for supplies, when we now find they are in the trunk
and mother has the key.

We walked aboard alone, in the crowded train,
and found ourselves in the only car reserved for
ladies, which was already filled with a large party
returning from Port Hudson, consisting of the fastest
set of girls that I have seen for some time. Anna
and I had to content ourselves with a seat on a
small box between the benches, while Miriam was
established on the only vacant one, with a sick
soldier lying at her feet. The fast girls talked as loud
as possible and laughed in a corresponding style in
spite of the sick man. They must have been on a
picnic, from the way they talked. One in a short dress
complained that she had not seen her sweetheart.
A pert little miss of thirteen cried, "You can bet
your head I never went to any place where I did
not see one of my sweethearts." One of about
seventeen, a perfect beauty, declared she would
die of thirst. "So will I! and I don't want to die
before I get a husband!" exclaimed her vis-à-vis.
They evidently expected to produce an impression
on us. At every "brilliant " remark ("stupid"
understood), they looked at us to see what we
thought. All of them sat with bare heads in the
strong light, an unfailing proof of la basse classe on
steamers and cars. Every time my veil blew aside,
they made no difficulty about scanning my features
as though they thought it might be agreeable. I
must confess I was equally impolite in regard to
the Beauty; but then her loveliness was an excuse,
and my veil sheltered me, besides. While this young

Psyche was fascinating me, with her perfect face and
innocent expression, one of her companions made a
remark - one that I dare say is made every day,
and that I never imagined could be turned into
harm. My Beauty uttered a prolonged "Oh!" of
horror, and burst out laughing, followed by all the
others. My disgust was unspeakable. Mock modesty
is always evident. A modest girl could not have
noticed the "catch"; the immodest, on the lookout
for such an opportunity, was the only one who could
have perceived it. Well! after all, no one can be
perfect; this may be the single stain on my Beauty,
though I confess I would rather have any other failing
than this, almost.

Putting this aside, I hardly know which I was
most amused by: the giddy, lively girls to my right,
or the two ladies to my left who were as cross and
ill-natured as two old cats and railed unmercifully
at the silly creatures behind them, and carried their
spite so far as to refuse to drink because the conductor
(the husband of one of them) gave the young
ladies water before passing it to their two elders.
Did n't the poor man get it! She would n't taste
a drop of that nasty dirty drippings, that she
would n't! Might have had the decency to attend
to his kinsfolks, before them creatures! And why
did n't he wait on those two young ladies behind
her? He did ask them? Well, ask them again!
they must want some! Poor Henpecked meekly
passed the can again, to be again civilly declined.

I confess the "drippings" were too much for me
also, though I did not give it as my excuse. Mrs.
Hen recommenced her pecking; poor Mr. Hen at
last surlily rejoined, "For Heaven's sake, don't
make a fuss in the cars," with an emphasis on the
last word that showed he was accustomed to it at
home, at least. With my veil down, I leaned against
the window, and remembering Colonel Breaux's
remarks two nights before concerning cross people,
I played his "little philosopher" for the remainder
of the journey.

At sunset we walked in at Lilly's gate, and
astonished her by standing before her as she sat alone
with her poor sick little Beatrice in her arms. . . .

Wednesday, 22d October, LINWOOD.

We left Clinton this morning, and have just now
arrived by the cars. Charlie came in last evening,
to our great surprise, so we did not scruple to leave
Lilly. . . .

The Baton Rouge party returned late this evening.
In spite of all preparation, Gibbes was horrified
at the appearance of home.

Friday, October 24th.

A letter from Jimmy, the first we have received
since New Orleans fell. It was dated the 10th inst.,
and he spoke of being on the eve of running the
blockade, and going to Liverpool "to represent our
unfortunate navy," as he says, though I am at loss

to imagine what he can mean. He speaks of a kind
friend, a Mr. George Trenholm,1 whose kindness has
been perfectly extraordinary. He has befriended
him in every way.

Charlie has just come by the railroad, bringing
other letters from him, to mother and Lilly. In
mother's is his last good-bye on the 12th. Again
Mr. Trenholm is the theme. I could not help crying
over my dear little brother's manly, affectionate
letter. He says he is sure God will still care for him,
He has raised him up friends wherever he has been.
He says he lost all his clothing in going to Charleston.
There, among other kind people, he met this
gentleman, who carried him to his house, where he
has kept him ever since, treating him like his son,
and forced him to accept a magnificent outfit as a
present from him. He procured the appointment
which sends Jimmy abroad (I wish Jimmy had been
more explicit concerning it; we hardly know what it
is, or how long it will keep him). The money he
received to pay Jimmy's passage (received from the
Government) he in turn obliged Jimmy to accept,
as he sails in one of Mr. Trenholm's steamers; and
not satisfied with that, gives him carte blanche on his
house in England, to be filled up with any amount
he chooses to name.

evening, to my great distress; for she hates that
odious place as much as I.

I know the life will kill her if it lasts six months
longer. How happy I would be, if it were not for the
thought of her uncomfortable position there! Lilly
agrees with me that, once out of it, she never wishes
to see the vile place again. Margret says that when
the Lord had finished all the world and all the people,
he had some scraps left, and just thought he'd
"batch up" Clinton with them. Perhaps she is
right.

Sunday, 26th October.

This place is completely overrun by soldiers
passing and repassing. Friday night five stayed here,
last night two more, and another has just gone. One,
last night, a bashful Tennesseean, had never tasted
sugar-cane. We were sitting around a blazing fire,
enjoying it hugely, when in answer to our repeated
invitations to help himself, he confessed he had never
eaten it. Once instructed, though, he got on remarkably
well, and ate it in a civilized manner, considering
it was a first attempt.

Everything points to a speedy attack on Port
Hudson. Rumors reach us from New Orleans of
extensive preparations by land and water, and of
the determination to burn Clinton as soon as they
reach it, in revenge for the looms that were carried
from Baton Rouge there, and which can soon be put
in working order to supply our soldiers, negroes, and
ourselves with necessary clothing. Of two evils, if

Baton Rouge is to be overrun by Yankees, and
Clinton burned, I would rather await them at
home.

Sunday, November 2d.

Yesterday was a day of
novel sensations to me.
First came a letter from mother announcing her
determination to return home, and telling us to be
ready next week. Poor mother! she wrote drearily
enough of the hardships we would be obliged to
undergo in the dismantled house, and of the new
experience that lay before us; but n' importe! I am
ready to follow her to Yankeeland, or any other
place she chooses to go. It is selfish for me to be
so happy here while she leads such a distasteful life
in Clinton. In her postscript, though, she said she
would wait a few days longer to see about the grand
battle which is supposed to be impending; so our
stay will be indefinitely prolonged. How thankful
I am that we will really get back, though! I hardly
believe it possible, however; it is too good to be
believed.

The nightmare of a probable stay in Clinton
being removed, I got in what the boys call a "perfect
gale," and sang all my old songs with a greater relish
than I have experienced for many a long month.
My heart was open to every one. So forgiving and
amiable did I feel that I went downstairs to see Will
Carter! I made him so angry last Tuesday that he
went home in a fit of sullen rage. It seems that some
time ago, some one, he said, told him such a joke

on me that he had laughed all night at it. Mortified
beyond all expression at the thought of having had
my name mentioned between two men, I, who have
thus far fancied myself secure from all remarks
good, bad, or indifferent (of men), I refused to have
anything to say to him until he should either explain
me the joke, or, in case it was not fit to be repeated
to me, until he apologized for the insult. He took
two minutes to make up a lie. This was the joke,
he said. Our milkman had said that that Sarah
Morgan was the proudest girl he ever saw; that she
walked the streets as though the earth was not good
enough for her. My milkman making his remarks!
I confess I was perfectly aghast with surprise, and
did not conceal my contempt for the remark, or his
authority either. But one can't fight one's milkman!
I did not care for what he or any of that class could
say; I was surprised to find that they thought at all!
But I resented it as an insult as coming from Mr.
Carter, until with tears in his eyes fairly, and in all
humility, he swore that, if it had been anything that
could reflect on me in the slightest degree, he would
thrash the next man who mentioned my name.
I was not uneasy about a milkman's remarks, so I
let it pass, after making him acknowledge that he
had told me a falsehood concerning the remark
which had been made. But I kept my revenge.
I had but to cry "Milk!" in his hearing to make him
turn crimson with rage. At last he told me that
the less I said on the subject, the better it would be

for me. I could not agree. "Milk" I insisted was
a delightful beverage. I had always been under the
impression that we owned a cow, until he had
informed me it was a milkman, but was perfectly
indifferent to the animal so I got the milk. With
some such allusion, I could make him mad in an
instant. Either a guilty conscience, or the real joke,
grated harshly on him, and I possessed the power of
making it still worse. Tuesday I pressed it too far.
He was furious, and all the family warned me that
I was making a dangerous enemy.

Yesterday he came back in a good humor, and
found me in unimpaired spirits. I had not talked
even of "curds," though I had given him several
hard cuts on other subjects, when an accident
happened which frightened all malicious fun out of
me. We were about going out after cane, and Miriam
had already pulled on one of her buckskin gloves,
dubbed "old sweety" from the quantity of cane-juice
they contain, when Mr. Carter slipped on its
mate, and held it tauntingly out to her. She tapped
it with a case-knife she held, when a stream of blood
shot up through the glove. A vein was cut and was
bleeding profusely.

He laughed, but panic seized the women.
Some brought a basin, some stood around. I ran
after cobwebs, while Helen Carter held the vein and
Miriam stood in silent horror, too frightened to
move. It was, indeed, alarming, for no one seemed
to know what to do, and the blood flowed rapidly.

Presently he turned a dreadful color, and stopped
laughing. I brought a chair, while the others thrust
him into it. His face grew more deathlike, his mouth
trembled, his eyes rolled, his head dropped. I
comprehended that these must be symptoms of
fainting, a phenomenon I had never beheld. I rushed
after water, and Lydia after cologne. Between us, it
passed away; but for those few moments I thought
it was all over with him, and trembled for Miriam.
Presently he laughed again and said, "Helen, if I
die, take all my negroes and money and prosecute
those two girls! Don't let them escape!" Then,
seeing my long face, he commenced teasing me.
"Don't ever pretend you don't care for me again!
Here you have been unmerciful to me for months,
hurting more than this cut, never sparing me once,
and the moment I get scratched, it 's 'O Mr. Carter!'
and you fly around like wild and wait on me!" In
vain I represented that I would have done the same
for his old lame dog, and that I did not like him a
bit better; he would not believe it, but persisted that
I was a humbug and that I liked him in spite of my
protestations. As long as he was in danger of bleeding
to death, I let him have his way; and, frightened
out of teasing, spared him for the rest of the evening.

Just at what would have been twilight but for the
moonshine, when he went home after the blood was
stanched and the hand tightly bound, a carriage
drove up to the house, and Colonel Allen was

announced. I can't say I was ever more disappointed.
I had fancied him tall, handsome, and elegant; I had
heard of him as a perfect fascinator, a woman-killer.
Lo! a wee little man is carried in, in the arms of two
others, - wounded in both legs at Baton Rouge, he
has never yet been able to stand. . . . He was
accompanied by a Mr. Bradford, whose assiduous
attentions and boundless admiration for the Colonel
struck me as unusual. . . . I had not observed him
otherwise, until the General whispered, "Do you
know that that is the brother of your old sweetheart?"
Though the appellation was by no means merited,
I recognized the one he meant. Brother to our Mr.
Bradford of eighteen months ago! My astonishment
was unbounded, and alluded to it immediately. He
said it was so; that his brother had often spoken
to him of us, and the pleasant evenings he had
spent at home.

November 4th, 1862.

O what a glorious time we had yesterday! First,
there were those two gentlemen to be entertained
all day, which was rather a stretch, I confess, so I
stole away for a while. Then I got the sweetest letter
from Miss Trenholm, enclosing Jimmy's photograph,
and she praised him so that I was in a damp state
of happiness and flew around showing my picture
to everybody, Mr. Bradford included, who
pronounced him a noble boy, and admired him to
my satisfaction. Then came a letter from Lilly,

saying mother had decided to remain in Clinton, and
wanted us to join her there. O my prophetic soul!
My heart went below zero! Then Colonel Allen
sent to Port Hudson for the band to serenade us,
and raised my spirits in anticipation of the treat.
While performing my toilet in the evening, Waller
Fowler arrived, on his way to Vicksburg, bringing
a letter to Miriam from Major Drum! Heaven only
knows how it got here! Such a dear, kind letter,
dated 6th of August, only! Affairs were very different
then, and he said that Lavinia's distress about
us was such that he must try to send her nearer
to us. And such an unexpected piece of news!
Oh, my heart fails me! I cannot fancy Lavinia a
mother.

Slowly I dressed myself, and still more slowly I
combed Anna. I could think of nothing else until
I heard Miriam and Mr. Bradford call us to take a
walk, when we hurried down to them. A race down
to the railroad, a merry talk standing on the track
mingled with shouts of laughter in which I tried
to drown fears for Lavinia, made the early sunset
clouds pass away sooner than usual, to us, and
moonlight warned us to return. Mrs. Worley passed
us in her buggy, coming to stay all night; and
half-way a servant met us, saying two soldiers had come
to call on us. Once there, I was surprised to find
that one was Frank Enders, the one I least expected
to see. The other was a Mr. Harold. I need not
describe him, beyond this slight indication of his

style. Before half an hour was over, he remarked
to Anna that I was a very handsome girl, and
addressed me as - Miss Sally! That is sufficient.

Then Will Carter came in, and joined our circle.
His first aside was, "If you only knew how much
I liked you last night, you would never be cruel to
me again. Why, I thought you the greatest girl
in the world! Please let's part friends to-night
again!" I would not promise, for I knew I would
tease him yet; and at supper, when I insisted on his
taking a glass of milk, his face turned so red that
Mrs. Carter pinched my arm blue, and refused to
help me to preserves because I was making Will
mad! But Waller helped me, and I drank my own
milk to Mr. Carter's health with my sweetest smile.
"Confound that milkman! I wish he had cut his
throat before I stumbled over him," he exclaimed
after tea. But I had more amusing game than to
make him angry then; I wanted to laugh to get rid
of the phantom that pursued me, Lavinia.

The evening passed off very pleasantly; I think
there were some eighteen of us in the parlor. About
ten the General went to the sugar-house (he commenced
grinding yesterday) and whispered to me to bring the
young people down presently. Mr. Bradford and I
succeeded in moving them, and we three girls
retired to change our pretty dresses for plain ones,
and get shawls and nuages, for our warm week
had suddenly passed away, and it was quite cold
out. Some of the gentlemen remarked that very few

young ladies would have the courage to change
pretty evening dresses for calico, after appearing
to such advantage. Many would prefer wearing
such dresses, however inappropriate, to the
sugar-mill. With his droll gravity, Gibbes answered,
"Oh, our girls don't want to be stuck up!"

There was quite a string of us as we straggled
out in the beautiful moonlight, with only Mrs. Badger
as an escort. Mr. Enders and I had a gay walk of it,
and when we all met at the furnace, we stopped and
warmed ourselves, and had a laugh before going in.
Inside, it was lighted up with Confederate gas, in
other words, pine torches, which shed a delightful
light, neither too much nor too little, over the
different rooms. We tried each by turns. The row
of bubbling kettles with the dusky negroes bending
over in the steam, and lightly turning their paddles
in the foamy syrup, the whole under the influence
of torchlight, was very interesting; but then, Mr.
Enders and I found a place more pleasant still.
It was in the first purgery, standing at the mouth of
the shoot through which the liquid sugar runs into
the car; and taking the place of the car as soon as it
was run off to the coolers, each armed with a paddle,
scraped the colon up and had our own fun while
eating. Then running along the little railroad to
where the others stood in the second room over the
vats, and racing back again all together to eat
sugar-cane and cut up generally around our first pine
torch, we had really a gay time.

Presently "Puss wants a corner" was suggested,
and all flew up to the second staging, under the
cane-carrier and by the engine. Such racing for
corners! Such scuffles among the gentlemen! Such
confusion among the girls when, springing forward for
a place, we would find it already occupied! All dignity
was discarded. We laughed and ran as loud and fast
as any children, and the General enjoyed our fun
as much as we, and encouraged us in our pranks.
Waller surpassed himself, Mr. Bradford carried all
by storm, Mr. Enders looked like a schoolboy on a
frolic, Mr. Carter looked sullen and tried lazily not
to mar the sport completely, while Mr. Harold
looked timidly foolish and half afraid of our wild
sport. Mrs. Badger laughed, the General roared,
Anna flew around like a balloon, Miriam fairly
danced around with fun and frolic, while I laughed
so that it was an exertion to change corners. Then
forfeits followed, with the usual absurd formalities in
which Mr. Bradford sentenced himself unconsciously
to ride a barrel, Miriam to make him a love speech
going home, Mr. Enders to kiss my hand, and I to
make him (Mr. Enders) a declaration, which I
instantly did, in French, whereby I suffered no
inconvenience, as Miriam alone comprehended.
Then came more sugar-cane and talk in the purgery,
and we were horrified when Mrs. Badger announced
that it was twelve o'clock, and gave orders to retire.

followed a last good-night on the balcony, while the
two young men mounted their horses and Frank
Enders vowed to slip off every time he had a chance
and come out to see us. Then there was a grand
proposition for a ride to Port Hudson on horseback,
and in order to secure a pledge that we would pass
by General Beale's headquarters, Mr. Enders
wrapped my nuage around his throat, declaring that
I would be obliged to stop there for it, though, if
prevented, he would certainly be obliged to bring
it back himself. This morning, however, the married
ladies made so much difficulty about who should
go, and how, that we were forced to abandon it,
much as we would have enjoyed it.

I am afraid to say how late it was when we got
to bed. I know it was almost ten when we left the
breakfast-table this morning, so I suppose it must
have been quite late before we retired. To Colonel
Allen's, as well as to our own great disappointment,
the band could not come on account of sickness.

November 6th.

We three girls fancied a
walk last evening, and
immediately after dinner prepared to walk to Mrs.
Breaux's, only a mile, and get her to come to the
sugar-house. But as we put on our bonnets, Captain
Bradford, brother of the one who left in the morning,
was announced, and our expedition had to be
abandoned. This is the third of the five brothers
that I have met, and if it were not for the peculiarity in

their voices, should say that there was not the
most distant relationship existing between them.
This one is very handsome, quiet, and what Dickens
calls "in a high-shouldered state of deportment."
He looks like a moss-covered stone wall, a slumbering
volcano, a - what you please, so it suggests anything
unexpected and dangerous to stumble over. A man
of indomitable will and intense feeling, I am sure.
I should not like to rouse his temper, or give him
cause to hate me. A trip to the sugar-house followed,
as a matter of course, and we showed him around,
and told him of the fun we had those two nights,
and taught him how to use a paddle like a Christian.
We remained there until supper-time, when we
adjourned to the house, where we spent the remainder
of the evening very pleasantly. At least I suppose he
found it so, for it was ten o'clock before he left.

Just now I was startled by a pistol shot. Threatening
to shoot her, Mr. Carter playfully aimed Miriam's pistol
at her, and before he could take fair aim, one barrel
went off, the shot grazing her arm and passing through
the armoir just behind. Of course, there was great
consternation. Those two seem doomed to kill each
other. She had played him the same trick before. He
swore that he would have killed himself with the other
shot if she had been hurt; but what good would that
do her?

I hardly know how these
last days have passed.
I have an indistinct recollection of rides in cane-wagons
to the most distant field, coming back perched on the
top of the cane singing, "Dye my petticoats," to the
great amusement of the General who followed on
horseback. Anna and Miriam, comfortably reposing
in corners, were too busy to join in, as their whole time
and attention were entirely devoted to the consumption
of cane. It was only by singing rough impromptus on
Mr. Harold and Captain Bradford that I roused them
from their task long enough to join in a chorus of "Forty
Thousand Chinese." I would not have changed my
perch, four mules, and black driver, for Queen Victoria's
coach and six.

And to think old Abe wants to deprive us of all
that fun! No more cotton, sugar-cane, or rice! No
more old black aunties or uncles! No more rides
in mule teams, no more songs in the cane-field, no
more steaming kettles, no more black faces and
shining teeth around the furnace fires! If Lincoln
could spend the grinding season on a plantation, he
would recall his proclamation. As it is, he has only
proved himself a fool, without injuring us. Why,
last evening I took old Wilson's place at the bagasse
shoot, and kept the rollers free from cane until I had
thrown down enough to fill several carts, and had
my hands as black as his. What cruelty to slaves!
And black Frank thinks me cruel, too, when he meets

me with a patronizing grin, and shows me the nicest
vats of candy, and peels cane for me. Oh! very
cruel! And so does Jules, when he wipes the handle
of his paddle on his apron, to give "Mamselle"
a chance to skim the kettles and learn how to work!
Yes! and so do all the rest who meet us with a
courtesy and "Howd'y, young Missus!" Last night
we girls sat on the wood just in front of the furnace
- rather Miriam and Anna did, while I sat in their
laps - and with some twenty of all ages crowded
around, we sang away to their great amusement.
Poor oppressed devils! Why did you not chunk us
with the burning logs instead of looking happy, and
laughing like fools? Really, some good old Abolitionist
is needed here, to tell them how miserable they are.
Can't Mass' Abe spare a few to enlighten his
brethren?

November 10th, Monday.

In spite of its being Sunday, no sooner was
dinner concluded yesterday than we adjourned, as
usual, to the sugar-house to see how much damage
we could do. Each took from a negro his long paddle,
and for more than half an hour skimmed the kettles
industriously, to the amazement of half a dozen strange
soldiers who came to see the extraordinary process
of sugar-making. At one time the two boys taking
possession of the two other paddles, not a negro was
at the kettles, but stood inspecting our work. The
hardest part we found to be discharging the batteries,
which none of us could do without their assistance.

We had no sooner relinquished our paddles
than some one announced two gentlemen at the
house. While we were discussing the possibility of
changing our dresses before being seen, enter Mr.
Enders and Gibbes Morgan 1 of Fenner's battery. No
retreat being possible, we looked charmed and
self-possessed in spite of plain calicoes and sticky
hands. . . . Mr. Enders verv conveniently forgot to bring
my nuage. He says he started expressly to do so, but
reflecting that I might then have no inducement to
pay that visit to Port Hudson, he left it for another
time. . . . We arranged a visit to Gibbes, and Mr.
Enders made me promise to call at General Beale's
headquarters for a pass. "They will want you to
go to the Provost Marshal's for it, but you just
come to General Beale's, and send a courier for
me, and I will bring it myself!" - and half in fun,
half in earnest, I promised.

November 12th, Wednesday.

Once more a cripple and
consigned to my bed,
for how long, Heaven only knows. This is written while
in a horizontal position, reposing on my right arm,
which is almost numb from having supported me for
some sixteen hours without turning over. Let me
see if I can remember how it happened.

Last evening we started out to see Gibbes, just
Miriam and Anna in one buggy, and Mrs. Badger
and I in the other. Gibbes proper, that is, the Captain,

and the General both approved, but neither could
accompany us. It is useless to say how much
I objected to going without a gentleman. Indeed,
when we reached the road which formed the fourth
side of the square formed by Colonel Breaux's,
Captain Bradford's, and Captain Fenner's camps,
I thought I should die of terror on finding myself
in such a crowd of soldiers on parade. My thick
veil alone consoled me, but I made a vow that I
would not go through it again, not if I never saw
Gibbes, Jr., again on earth.

His camp lay far off from the road, so that we had
to drive out to it between the other two, and asked
a soldier to tell him that we were there. Presently he
came up, looking so pleased that I was almost
glad that we had come; and then Captain Fenner
appeared, looking charmed, and Lieutenant Harris,
who looked more alarmed and timid than I. Captain
Fenner exerted himself to entertain us, and seeing
how frightened I was, assured me that it was
an everyday occurrence for young ladies to visit
them in parties without gentlemen, and that it was
done all through the Confederacy; which, however,
did not comfort me for the hundreds of eyes that
were looking at us as our small party stood out in
front of the encampment around a cannon. I think
he can throw more expression into his eyes than any
one I ever saw. Miriam suggested sending Gibbes
to the Provost to get our pass in order to avoid the
crowd that might be there. Eager to leave the present

one for a more retired spot, I exclaimed, "Oh,
no! let us go ourselves! We can't get in a worse
crowd!" I meant a greater; but Captain Fenner
looked so comically at me that I could scarcely
laugh out an apology, while he laughed so that I am
sure he did not listen to me. What a comical
mouth! I liked him very much, this time. He promised
to come out to-day or to-morrow, and have a
game of "Puss wants a corner" in the sugar-house.
But now I can't join in, though it was to me the
promise was made.

But to the catastrophe at once.

As we left, we insisted on taking Gibbes to get
our pass, and made him get into Miriam's buggy,
where there was space for him to kneel and drive.
I was to carry out my promise to Mr. Enders. We
had to pass just by the camp of the First Alabama,
Colonel Steadman's, where the whole regiment was
on parade. We had not gone thirty yards beyond
them when a gun was discharged. The horse
instantly ran off. I don't believe there could be two
cooler individuals than Mrs. Badger and I were.
I had every confidence in her being able to hold
him so long as the bridle lasted. I had heard that
there was more danger in jumping at such moments
than in remaining quiet, so I sat still. There was
nothing to hold to, as it was a no-top, or what I call
a "low-neck," buggy; so my hands rested quietly in
my lap. Presently I saw the left rein snap close to the
horse's mouth. I knew all was over then, but did not utter

a word. Death seemed inevitable, and I thought it
was as well to take it coolly. The horse turned
abruptly; I felt that something impelled me out,
followed the impulse, saw Mrs. Badger's white cape
fluttering above me, received a blow on the extremity
of my spine that I thought would kill me before
I reached the ground, landing, however, on my left
hip, and quietly reclining on my left elbow, with my
face to an upset buggy whose wheels spun around
in empty air. I heard a rush as of horses; I saw men
galloping up; I would have given worlds to spring
to my feet, or even to see if they were exposed; but
found I could not move. I had no more power over
my limbs than if they were iron; only the intense
pain told me I was still alive. I was perfectly
conscious, but unable to move. My only wonder was
why Miriam, who was in front, did not come to me.

My arm was giving away. Dimly, as through a
haze, or dream, I saw a soldier bending over me,
trying to raise me. The horse he had sprung from
rushed up to his master, and reared up over me.
I saw the iron hoofs shining above my body; death
was certain this time, but I could not move. He
raised his arm and struck him, and obedient to the
blow the animal turned aside and let his feet fall
without crushing me. Mrs. Carter, when she heard
it described, offered a fabulous sum for a correct
drawing of that most interesting tableau, the gallant
Alabamian supporting a helpless form on one
arm, while he reined in a fiery charger with the

other. I was not aware of the romance; I was conscious
only of the unpleasant situation.

Dozens crowded around, and if I had been a girl
for display, here was an opportunity, for thirty pair
of soldier arms were stretched out to hold me.
"No! Gibbes! Gibbes!" I whispered, and had the
satisfaction of being transferred from a stranger's
to my cousin's arms. Gibbes trembled more than I,
but with both arms clasped around me, held me up.
But for that I would have returned to my original
horizontal position. "Send for the doctor!" cried
one. "A surgeon, quick!" cried another. "Tell
them no!" I motioned. I was conscious of a clatter
of hoofs and cloud of dust. One performed a feat
never heard of before. He brought a glass of water
at full gallop which I instantly drained by way of
acknowledgment. I think I felt the unpleasant
situation more than the pain. Not being accustomed
to being the centre of attraction, I was by no means
pleased with the novel experience. Miriam held my
hand, and questioned me with a voice tremulous
with fear and laughter. Anna convulsively sobbed
or giggled some question. I felt the ridiculous
position as much as they. Laughing was agony, but
I had to do it to give them an excuse, which they
readily seized to give vent to their feelings, and
encouraged by seeing it, several gold-band officers
joined in, constantly endeavoring to apologize or
check themselves with a "Really, Miss, it may seem
unfeeling, but it is impossible" - the rest was lost

I don't know what I was thinking of, but I
certainly paid very little attention to what was
going on. I only wanted to get home, away from
all those eyes; and my most earnest wish made
me forget them. The first remark I heard was my
young Alabamian crying, "It is the most beautiful
somerset I ever saw! Indeed, it could not be more
gracefully done! Your feet did not show!" Naïf, but
it was just what I wanted to know, and dared not
ask. Some one ran up, and asked who was hurt,
and I heard another reply, "I am afraid the young
lady is seriously injured, only she won't acknowledge
it. It is worth while looking at her. She is the coolest,
most dignified girl you ever saw"; and another
was added to the already too numerous audience.
Poor Mrs. Badger, having suffered only from torn
clothing, received very little sympathy, while I got
more than my share. I really believe that the blow
I received was from her two hundred and forty
pound body, though the Alabamian declares he saw
the overturning buggy strike me as I fell.

To her and others I am indebted for the repetition
of many a remark that escaped me. One bold
soldier boy exclaimed, "Madame, we are all warriors,
but we can't equal that! It is braver than any
man!" I had to laugh occasionally to keep my
spirits up, but Miriam ordered me to quit, saying
that I would go off in hysterics. I had previously

repeatedly declared to the Doctor that I was not
hurt, and seeing him idle, and hearing Miriam's
remark, the Alabamian - I am told - cried, "O
Doctor! Doctor! can't you do something? Is she
going to have hysterics?" "Really," said the Doctor,
"the young lady objects to being examined; but as
far as I can judge, she has no limbs broken." Everybody
ordered me to confess at once my injury; but how was
I to inform a whole crowd that I had probably broken the
tip of my backbone, and could not possibly sit down?
So I adhered to my first affirmation, and made no objection
when they piled the cushions up and made Gibbes put
me down; for I knew he must be tired.

I am told I remained there an hour. I know they
talked to me, and that I answered; but have not
an idea of the subject. A gentleman brought a
buggy, and offered to drive me home; but a Captain
Lenair insisted on running after the ambulance.
Arrived there, Mr. Enders says he rushed in, crying,
"For God's sake, General Beale, lend me the ambulance!
There is a dreadful accident, and I am afraid
the young lady will die!" Coming back he exclaimed,
"By Jove! boys, if you want to see a sight, run
down and see her hair! The prettiest auburn (?)
you ever looked at, and sweeps the ground!
would n't mind such a fall if I had such hair to show.
Come look at it, do!" Mr. Enders says he was sure
that it was I, as soon as hair was mentioned, and
started out as soon as he had finished a duty he had

to perform. My garter, a purple silk ribbon, lay
in the centre of the ring. By the respectful silence
observed, I saw they recognized its use, so, unwilling
to leave such a relic behind, I asked aloud for
my "ribbon," whereupon Anna says the officers
pinched each other and smiled. Up came the
ambulance, and I was in imminent danger of being
carried to it, when with a desperate effort I regained
my feet with Gibbes's help, and reached it without
other assistance. Beyond, I could do no more.

Captain Lenair got inside, and several others
lifted me up to him, and I sank motionless on the
floor. All bade me good-bye, and my little Alabamian
assured me that he was proud of having been
the first to assist me. President Miller whispered
to Mrs. Badger for permission to accompany us,
which she readily granted, and raising me on the
seat, he insisted on putting his arm around me to
hold me up. It was useless to decline. "Now, Miss
Morgan, I assure you I am an old married man!
I know you are suffering! Let me have my way!"
and the kind old gentleman held me so comfortably,
and broke the force of so many jolts, that I was
forced to submit and acknowledge that had it not
been for him I could not have endured the rough
road. At the gate that leads to General Beale's
headquarters, I saw half a dozen figures standing.
One was Frank Enders, who hailed the driver.
"Hush!" said one I recognized as Captain Lenair.
"The young lady is in there, and the Provost, too!"

"I don't care if it is Jeff Davis, I 'll find out if she is
hurt!" he answered. Miriam and Anna recognized
him, as they followed behind us, and called to him.
Without more ado, he jumped into their buggy, finding
them alone, and drove them home. He asked
me something as he passed, but I could not answer.

The road was dreadful. Once the driver mistook
it and drove us within two steps of an embankment
six feet high, but discovered the mistake before the
horses went over.

What I most dreaded was explanations when we
should arrive. Miriam stepped out an instant
before, and I heard her telling the accident. Then
everybody, big and little, white and black, gathered
around the ambulance. The Provost thought himself
privileged to carry me, Gibbes insisted on trying
it with his one arm, when the General picked me
up and landed me on the gallery. He wanted me
to lie down in old Mrs. Carter's room, but confident
that once there I could not get up, and feeling that
perhaps the gentlemen would take advantage of its
being on the ground floor to suggest calling on me,
I struggled upstairs with Helen's assistance. A
dozen hands undressed me, and laid me on my face
in bed, which position I have occupied up to the
present, 3 P.M. . . . Unable to turn, all night I lay
awake, Iying on my face, the least comfortable of
positions; but though the slightest motion tortured
me, I had to laugh as we talked it over.

in my same position, which will account for many
blots. This morning I was interrupted by mother's
unexpected arrival, she having come with Dellie
and Morgan to spend the day. Of course, she is
horrified at the accident of that "unfortunate
Sarah"!

Saturday, November 15th.

I think I grow no better
rapidly. Fortunately on
Wednesday night they succeeded in turning me
over; for my poor elbows, having lost all their skin,
were completely used up. Now, if I go slowly and
carefully, I can turn myself at the cost of some little
suffering. . . .

Yesterday Colonel Steadman, of the First Alabama,
called with his father. He sent me many messages
of condolence, and the rather unpleasant advice
to be cupped and scarified. His profession was
that of a physician before he became colonel.
His surgeon, whose name is Madding, told him he
was satisfied that I was seriously injured, though
I had not complained. The Colonel is the same
who called when we were in Clinton. They readily
accepted our invitation to dinner, and remained
until late in the afternoon, when Captain Bradford
came in. More messages of condolence and
sympathy upstairs, which produced no visible
effect on my spine, though very comforting to
the spirit.

Badger, who wished to apply a few dry cups to my
back, to which I quietly submitted, and was unable
to move afterwards without pain, as a reward for
my patience. But towards sunset came two dear letters
that made me forget what I had suffered, one
from George, and one from Jimmy, dated Bermudas.
For the first time I know what my dear little brother
suffered during those long months when we could
not hear if he were dead or alive. He kept the secret
until he no longer needed either friends or money;
and now he tells it with a simplicity that made me
cry fit to break my heart when I was left alone in the
twilight with no one to see. . . . George comforts me
with hopes of Peace, and a speedy return. If it
could only be! . . .

This morning the boom of Yankee guns reached
my ears; a sound I had hoped never to hear again.
It is only those poor devils (I can afford to pity
them in their fallen state) banging away at some
treasonable sugar-houses that are disobedient
enough to grind cane on the other side of the
river. I hear that one is at Mrs. Cain's. The
sound made my heart throb. What if the fight
should come off before I can walk? It takes three
people to raise me whenever it is necessary for me
to move; I am worse than helpless.

Tuesday, November 18th.

A note just came from mother, telling me that the
most awful Yankees were coming to burn Linwood

and take Port Hudson, and so this evening I must
walk down to the cars with a chair to rest in until
they came, and must certainly be in Clinton to-night.
Delightful arrangement! I wrote to ask if she knew
that my legs were of no more service to me than to
her? Dr. Dortch has again been murdering me . . .
says perhaps I can stand by Sunday. If the Yankees
come before -

Friday night, November 21st.

Lying on my face, as it
were, with my poor elbows
for a support, I try to pass away these lonely hours.
For with the exception of old Mrs. Carter, who is
downstairs, and the General, who is elsewhere, Anna
and I are the only white people on the place. The
cause of this heartless desertion is a grand display
of tableaux vivants at Jackson, for the benefit of the
Soldiers' Hospital, and of course it would be sinful
to stay away, particularly as Anna is a great deal
better, and I need no care. . . .

was so solicitous for my comfort; and there was Mr.
Enders who would wheel my chair for me wherever
I wished it, and was as kind and attentive as a
brother. Surely my first trip should have been a gay
one! Miriam sat down by the piano, Mr. Enders
drew me by her, and we three sang until dark
together. A Mr. Morse, his wife, and mother, who
are spending a week here, were our audience. The
first two retired at candle-light, while the latter,
present at the play the night before, remained to the
last. But while we sang, every noise at the parlor
door caused us to turn with the apprehension of
we hardly knew what. A dozen times Mr. Enders
consulted his watch, and telegraphed his fears to me,
though I persisted in thinking it only the fun that
had been intended.

Half-past six came, and with it, Mrs. Worley.
Now, she knew better. For Dr. Dortch had come to
see me, and was guiding me in my game of euchre
in which I was not even as wise as my partner, Mr.
Enders, when her note came. Instantly we put
down our cards, while Miriam begged him to write
and tell her the true story. He wrote and we all
read it. Not only that, but Miriam added a post-script
which I think was this, word for word: "Mrs.
Worley, it is only a bet at cards, intended as the
merest joke. There is not a word of truth in it, and
I will consider it the greatest favor if you will
contradict the report whenever you may hear it!"
Explicit enough, one would think; but still she came,

and sent word into the parlor that one of the ladies
present when Will made the announcement had sent
her contribution to the evening's fun. It turned
out to be a complete bridal suit, worn by the lady
a year ago! That was too serious a jest. Miriam
went into the other room to speak to Mrs. Worley,
who, cold as an icicle, refused to receive or make
explanation, beyond "I won't kiss you; this is too
cruel." There was nothing to do; she returned
laughing, but certainly feeling herself the injured
one, and so she was.

In fifteen minutes, another stir. I held my breath
with expectation. Lydia introduced - Mr. G-.
Ten miles he had ridden through mud and water
that freezing evening, at Will Carter's request, to
perform the ceremony between him and Miriam.
Lydia laughed until she could hardly introduce him.
He, hat in hand, bowed around the convulsed circle
with a countenance shining with the most sublimely
vacant expression. O that man's idiotic face, and
solemn, portentous look, brought a writhe even to
my trembling lips! Mr. Enders would have given
one an excellent idea of the effect produced by
a real old piney-woods chill; he shook as with
suppressed laughter. But when the tremendous
preacher (tremendous because composed of gigantic
Nothing) turned his lugubrious face towards Mrs.
Morse, and addressed her as Mrs. Morgan under
the impression that she had come down to see her
daughter married, Miriam's risibles could no longer

stand it, and she flew from the room in time to avoid
a disgraceful explosion.

I was growing frightened. Mr. Enders was
leaning over my chair, and involuntarily it burst
from me with a groan, "For God's sake, help me
save her!" "Hush! Lie back in your chair! I will!"
he whispered. "But for the love of Heaven, save
my sister!" "I'll do what you will, if you will only
keep still and not hurt yourself. I'll do my best."
It was all whispered, that the minister and Mrs.
Morse might not hear. "If it were your sister,
what would you do?" "My God! I'd meet him
on the front gallery and kick him out! Then I'd
know one of us must die to-morrow!" "But under
the circumstances it is impossible for Gibbes to
act!" I urged, while we agreed that it was the most
unwarrantable piece of insolence ever perpetrated.
While we talked, Gibbes had seized Miriam and,
without interfering or advising further, advised her
to keep her room and not meet Will.

But I skipped the most important part. She came
back when she had recovered her composure, and
sat by me. Mr. Enders, when I asked what was best
to do, whispered that to spare Will's feelings, and
avoid a most painful scene, as well as to show that
she had no serious intentions whatever, she should
see that the minister was put in full possession of
the facts before it went any farther. He felt keenly
his unpleasant situation, and it was only our earnest
request that induced him to remain, or give his advice.

Who should explain? Certainly not the General.
He thought the joke carried too far, and retired
to his room before Mr. G- came. How take
part against his own nephew? Not Gibbes either
for he had gone upstairs too worried and annoyed
to talk to any one; besides, it was his wife's cousin.
Who then? Miriam is one woman in a thousand.
Rising, she crossed the room slowly and as dignified
as though she only meant to warm herself. I think
I see her before me now, as she stood before the fire,
facing Mr. G-, looking so handsome and stylish
in her black grenadine with the pale-green trimming,
telling her story. Plainly, earnestly, distinctly, without
hurry or embarrassment, in the neatest, prettiest,
most admirable speech I ever heard, she told
everything just as it was. Bravo for Miriam! There
lives not the woman in this State who could do so
painful a thing in such a beautiful way. I felt like
hugging her. Oh, it was magnificent! He heard her
in surprise, but when once satisfied of its truth, he
said, "Well, Miss Morgan, when you stand on the
floor, when I ask if you will, it is your privilege to
answer, 'No.' " Miriam is not one to do so cruel
a thing; she is too noble to deceive him so far and
wound him so cruelly before all, when he believed
himself so near happiness. She said that it was
mockery, she would not suffer him to believe for an
instant that she meant to marry him; if he believed
it, he was deceiving himself wilfully, for he already
knew that she had told him it could never be. He

agreed to take it only as a jest, promised that he
would not feel hurt; and with the most admirable
tact, Miriam, the trump (I have been playing euchre,
excuse me), settled the minister, and the wedding,
by her splendid behavior, with no trouble.

A rapid step was heard in the hall; the
bridegroom had come! I know he must have
killed his horse. He certainly did not leave his
house before one o'clock; it is twenty miles by
the road to Clinton; he went there, procured his
license, and was here at seven, in full costume.
He bounded upstairs to meet the bride-elect.

I can fancy him going to Clinton, doubting, fearing,
believing against all evidence, yet trembling;
securing the license at last, persuading himself that
she would not dare refuse when the deeds were
recorded in court, and he held them in his hand; -
and very few women would have been brave enough,
too; he did not know My Miriam! I can fancy the
poor horse lashed through the heavy mire, tired,
foaming, panting, while his strong arm urged it on,
with whip and spur; I can hear the exulting beating
of his heart, that wild refrain that was raging as his
death-knell - "Mine! Mine at last!" I could hear
it, I say. It rung in my ears all night. He held her
in his power; she must be his; hastily, yet carefully
he performs his toilet; I dare say he stopped to think
which cravat she liked best. "Mine! Mine!" the
song is ringing in every stroke of his throbbing
breast. Mount! Mount! Two miles fly past. He

sweeps through the moonlight like Death riding
on a pale horse; yonder shine lights in the parlor;
and that above; is it hers? He throws himself from
his horse; his hour has come, hers too; with the
license and minister, his own adoration - and she
must love him too! - he will win! Show him the
way to her! She is his forever now! His? My God!
had I not reason to cry, "In God's name, save her,
Frank!" He reaches Mrs. Carter's room, and
triumphantly throws the license on her table. He is
ready now; where is his bride?

Some one meets him. "Will!"

The story is told; she is not to be won by force;
she has appealed to the minister; he has carried the
jest too far. The strong man reels; he falls on the
bed in his bridal array in agony too great for tears.
I dare not ask what followed; they tell me it was
awful. What madness and folly, to dream of forcing
her to marry him! Why, if she had loved him,
the high-handed proceeding would have roused the
lion of her spirit ! He is no mate for her. He has but
one thought, and at last words come. "Miriam!
Miriam! Call her, for the love of God!" One word!
one look! Oh, she will take pity on him in his misery.
Let her come for one instant! she cannot be so cruel!
she will marry him if only to save him from death,
or worse! And fortunate it was that he was not
armed, one of the two would have died; perhaps
both. The heartbroken prayer goes on. The exulting
"Mine! Mine!" has changed to the groan of

And where is the bride? Gibbes has her caged in
the next room, this one where I am now lying. He
has advised her not to appear; to go to bed and say
no more. Sent to bed like a baby on her wedding
night! She says that she laughed aloud when the door
closed on her. She laughing in here, he groaning in
there, it is to be hoped they each drowned the voice
of the other. . . . The minister said good-night. He
disclaimed all feeling of pique; he felt chiefly for the
young lady - and the disappointed groom. (Ouf!)
I sent to ask Will to come to me alone for a moment;
no, he could not see me; write to him.

Slowly, as though an aged, infirm, tottering man,
we heard him descending the steps. How different
from the step that carried him up! We, conscience
stricken, sat within, with doors closed. He was
off. He has again mounted his horse, and the
broken-hearted man, hardly less cruel than the
expectant bridegroom, dashes the rowel in his
side and disappears like a whirlwind.

I can fancy mother's and Lilly's agony, when they
hear of the wedding. All Clinton knew it last night,
and if they did, too, I know there was as little sleep
for them as for us. I know mother shrieked, "My
child! My child!" while Lilly cried. How could he
believe she meant to marry him, without even sending
word to mother when he was going to the very

town? Bah! What a jolly go if those two got hysterics
about the supposed Moral Suicide! Glad I was
not at the tea-party! Well, fearing the effect of such
a shock in mother's nervous state, Gibbes advised
Miriam to go on the cars this evening, and convince
her that it had not occurred, court records and
licenses and minister to the contrary notwithstanding;
so my duck, my angel, she whom I call my Peri
with the singed wings (children who play in the fire
must expect to be burned), set off on her pious
errand, without the protecting arm of her bridegroom.

Sunday, 7th December.

I have had a shock! While
writing alone here
(almost all have gone to church), I heard a step
ascending the stair. What, I asked, if it should be
Will? Then I blamed myself for supposing such a
thing possible. Slowly it came nearer and nearer,
I raised my head, and was greeted with a ghastly
smile. I held out my hand. "Will!" "Sarah!" (Misery
discards ceremony.) He stood before me the
most woebegone, heartbroken man I ever saw.

With a forced laugh he said, "Where is my bride?
Pshaw! I know she has gone to Clinton! I have
come to talk to you. Was n't it a merry wedding?"
The hollow laugh rang again. I tried to jest, but
failed. "Sit down and let me talk to you," I said.
He was in a wayward humor; cut to the heart, ready
to submit to a touch of silk, or to resist a grasp of
iron. This was the man I had to deal with, and get

from him something he clung to as to - not his life,
but - Miriam. And I know so little how to act in
such a case, know so little about dealing gently with
wild natures!

He alarmed me at first. His forced laugh ceased;
he said that he meant to keep that license always.
It was a joke on him yesterday, but with that in his
possession, the tables would be turned on her. He
would show it to her occasionally. It should keep
her from marrying any one else. I said that it would
be demanded, though; he must deliver it. The very
devil shot in his eye as he exclaimed fiercely, "If
any one dares demand it, I'll die before giving it
up! If God Almighty came, I'd say no! I'll die
with it first!" O merciful Father, I thought; what
misery is to come of this jest. He must relinquish
it. Gibbes will force him into it, or die in the
attempt; George would come from Virginia. . . .
Jimmy would cross the seas. . . . And I was alone
in here to deal with such a spirit!

I commenced gently. Would he do Miriam such
a wrong? It was no wrong, he said; let him follow his
own will. "You profess to love her?" I asked. "Profess?
Great God! how can you? I adore her! I tell you that, in spite
of all this, I love her not more - that is impossible, - but as
much as ever! Look at my face and ask that!" burst from
him with the wildest impulse. "Very well. This girl you love,
then, you mean to make miserable. You stand forever
between her and her happiness, because you love her! Is

this love?" He was sullenly silent. I went on: "Not
only her happiness, but her honor is concerned.
You who love her so, do her this foul injury."
"Would it affect her reputation?" he asked. "Ask
yourself! Is it quite right that you should hold in
your hands the evidence that she is Mrs. Carter,
when you know she is not, and never will be? Is it
quite honorable?" "In God's name, would it injure
Miriam? I'd rather die than grieve her."

My iron was melted, but too hot to handle; I put
it on one side, satisfied that I and I only had saved
Miriam from injury and three brothers from bloodshed,
by using his insane love as a lever. It does not look as
hard here as it was in reality; but it was of the hardest
struggles I ever had - indeed, it was desperate. I had
touched the right key, and satisfied of success, turned
the subject to let him believe he was following his
own suggestions. When I told him he must free Miriam
from all blame, that I had encouraged the jest against
her repeated remonstrances, and was alone to blame,
he generously took it on himself. "I was so crazy about
her," he said, "that I would have done it anyhow. I would
have run any risk for the faintest chance of obtaining
her"; and much more to the same purpose that,
though very generous in him, did not satisfy my
conscience. But he surprised me by saying that
he was satisfied that if I had been in my room, and
he had walked into the parlor with the license, she
would have married him. What infatuation! He

says, though, that I only prevented it; that my influence,
by my mere presence, is stronger than his words.
I don't say that is so; but if I helped save her, thank
Heaven!

It is impossible to say one half that passed, but
he showed me his determination to act just as he has
heretofore, and take it all as a joke, that no blame
might be attached to her. "Besides, I'd rather die
than not see her; I laugh, but you don't know what
I suffer!" Poor fellow! I saw it in his swimming
eyes.

At last he got up to go before they returned
from church. "Beg her to meet me as she always
has. I told Mrs. Worley that she must treat her just
the same, because I love her so. And - say I go to
Clinton to-morrow to have that record effaced, and
deliver up the license. I would not grieve her; indeed,
I love her too well." His voice trembled as well as his
lips. He took my hand, saying, "You are hard on me.
I could make her happy, I know, because I worship
her so. I have been crazy about her for three years;
you can't call it a mere fancy. Why are you against
me? But God bless you! Good-bye!" And he was
gone.

Why? O Will, because I love my sister too much
to see her miserable merely to make you happy!

Friday, 12th December.

My cripple friend that I
mentioned so far back
continues to send me the most affecting messages.

"He is really wretched about me; never was more
distressed; thinks of nothing else"; and so on through
the whole list. To cap the climax, he sends me word
that he can now walk on crutches, and the first time
he can venture in a buggy, means to call on me.
Que le ciel m'en préserve! What could we talk about?
"His'n" and "her'n" several misfortunes? That's
too bad! Every one teases me unmercifully about
my new conquest. I can't help but be amused; and
yet, beware, young girls, of expressing sympathy,
even for soldiers! There is no knowing what effect
it may produce.

Sunday, December 14th.

Yesterday evening, some time before sunset, Mr.
Enders was announced, to our great surprise, as we
knew he had been in Clinton all the week, having
been transferred there instead of to Jackson, as he
threatened. He was the most miserable, unhappy
creature one could possibly imagine; even too
melancholy for me to laugh at him, which expresses
the last degree of wretchedness. To all our questions,
he had but one answer, that he had had the most
dreadful attack of "blues" ever since he was here
Sunday; that he had waited every evening at the
cars, expecting us, and at last, seeing that we had
no intention of coming, he could no longer stand
the temptation, so got permission to come down for
a day to Port Hudson so he could come out to see
us. . . . Before we could fairly get him cheerful, Will
Carter and Ned Badger, who returned only this

week from Kentucky, entered. Will was in a bad
humor, and wanted to vent it on us; so after waiting
some time, he proposed that the two young men
should go with him, pocketing at the same moment
the cards which had won Miriam and saying they
would have a nice game together, and just the rarest
old whiskey! He looked around to see the effect
produced. We girls did not move, but Mr. Enders
said he must really return immediately to Port
Hudson, and start for Clinton from there in the
night. Will thought it would be such a triumph over
us to carry him off, that he insisted. They'd have
a fine time! cure the blues! etc. Ned was more
than willing; and at last Mr. Enders said, Well! he
felt just so desperate that he did not care what
he did; he believed he would go. I saw he was in
a reckless humor, and that Will knew it, too, and
I promised to make at least an effort to save him.

Miriam spoke to him apart, but he said he
had promised now; he must go. Will ran down
triumphant to mount his horse, calling him to follow.
All ran out to see him off, when Frank came back
to tell me good-bye. I seized the opportunity, and
did n't I plead! I told him I would not ask him to
stay here, though he knew we would be happy to
have him stay; and begged him to go back to the
camp, and leave Will alone. . . . I suggested other
resources; talked of his mother whom he idolizes,
pleaded like a grandmother; and just as I wound up,
came Will's voice from below, "Why the devil don't

you come, Enders? Hurry!" He moved a step,
looked at me; I dropped my head without a word.
Here I must confess to the most consummate piece
of acting; I am sorry, but as long as it saved him
from doing what I knew he would have cause to
regret, I am not ashamed of having tried it. Will
called impatiently again, as he stood hesitating
before me; I did not say, "Stay," I just gave the
faintest sigh imaginable. . . . He went down and told
Will he would not go! Of course, Will went off in
a rage with us.

Friday, December 26th, 1862.

Monday Dr. Woods and Mr.
Van Ingen stopped,
just from their regiment in Kentucky and on their
way home, and I begged so hard to see the Doctor,
and promised so faithfully to retire if I suffered too
much, that Mrs. Badger yielded, like an angel, and
I carried my point. The Doctor! We looked in vain
at each other; I for my dandy friend in irreproachable
broadcloth, immaculate shirt bosoms and perfect
boots; he for the brusque, impulsive girl who in ordinary
circumstances would have run dancing into the parlor,
would have given him half-glad, half-indifferent greeting,
and then found either occasion to laugh at him or would
have turned elsewhere for amusement. We looked, I say,
in vain. Before me stood my pattern of neatness in a
rough uniform of brown homespun. A dark flannel shirt
replaced the snowy cambric one, and there was neither
cravat nor collar to mark the boundary line between his dark

face and the still darker material. And the dear
little boots! O ye gods and little fishes! they were
clumsy, and mud-spattered! If my mouth twitched
with laughter as I silently commented, the Doctor's
did not! I, who always danced on my way, came in
Iying back on my pillows, and wheeled in by a servant.
The Doctor's sympathy was really touching,
and poor consolation he gave when he heard the
story. "You will recover, to a certain extent; but
will feel it more or less all your life."

I am the ruin of all these puns; the gentlemen will
hate me; I must learn to ignore their conundrums
until they answer them themselves, and to wait
patiently for the pun instead of catching it and
laughing before it is half-spoken. Why can't I do
as the others do? There was Mr. Van Ingen with
his constant stream of them, that I anticipated
several times. He said to me, "If I were asked what
town in Louisiana I would rather be in this evening,
what would my answer be?" I should have looked
perfectly innocent, and politely inquisitive; but I
did neither. I saw the answer instantly, and
laughed. "Ah, you have guessed! I can see it in
your eyes!" he said. Of course I had, but I told him
I was afraid to say it, for fear he might think I was
flattering myself. Then we both laughed. The
place he referred to was Bayou, Sarah. . . .

Yesterday, being a beautiful day, I was carried
down in honor of Christmas, to meet Captain Fenner

and Mr. Duggan who were to dine with us. The cars
had brought Miriam a beautiful little set of collars
and cuffs from Dellie, and the oddest, sweetest little
set for me, from Morgan, for our Christmas gift.
It is all Lilly. . . .

We had an exquisite Christmas gift the night
before, a magnificent serenade, a compliment from
Colonel Breaux. It very singularly happened that
Miriam, Anna, and Ned Badger were sitting up in
the parlor, watching alone for Christmas, when the
band burst forth at the steps, and startled them into
a stampede upstairs. But Gibbes, who came with
the serenaders, caught them and brought them
back into the parlor, where there were only eight
gentlemen; and in this novel, unheard-of style, only
these two girls, with Gibbes to play propriety,
entertained all these people at midnight while the
band played without. . . .

I commenced writing to-day expressly to speak
of our pleasant Christmas; yet it seems as though
I would write about anything except that, since I have
not come to it yet. Perhaps it is because I feel I could
not do it justice. At least, I can say who was there. At
sunset came Captain Bradford and Mr. Conn, the first
stalking in with all the assurance which a handsome face
and fine person can lend, the second following with all the
timidity of a first appearance. . . . Again, after a long pause,
the door swung open, and enter Mr. Halsey, who bows and
takes the seat on the other side of me, and Mr. Bradford,

of Colonel Allen memory, once more returned
to his regiment, who laughs, shakes hands all around,
and looks as happy as a schoolboy just come home
for the holidays, who has never-ending visions of
plumcakes, puddings, and other sweet things. While
all goes on merrily, another rap comes, and enter
Santa Claus, dressed in the old uniform of the Mexican
War, with a tremendous cocked hat, and preposterous
beard of false hair, which effectually conceal the
face, and but for the mass of tangled short
curls no one could guess that the individual was
Bud. It was a device of the General's, which took
us all by surprise. Santa Claus passes slowly around
the circle, and pausing before each lady, draws from
his basket a cake which he presents with a bow,
while to each gentleman he presents a wineglass
replenished from a most suspicious-looking black
bottle which also reposes there. Leaving us all
wonder and laughter, Santa Claus retires with a
basket much lighter than it had been at his
entrance. . . .Then follow refreshments, and more
and more talk and laughter, until the clock strikes
twelve, when all these ghosts bid a hearty good-night
and retire.

January 1st, Thursday, 1863.

1863! Why I have hardly
become accustomed to
writing '62 yet! Where has this year gone? With
all its troubles and anxieties, it is the shortest I ever
spent! '61 and '62 together would hardly seem three
hundred and sixty-five days to me. Well, let time

Page 308

fly. Every hour brings us nearer our freedom, and we
are two years nearer peace now than we were when
South Carolina seceded. That is one consolation. . . .

I learn, to my unspeakable grief, that the State
House is burned down.

Sunday, January 4th.

One just from Baton Rouge
tells us that my
presentiment about our house is verified; Yankees
do inhabit it, a Yankee colonel and his wife. They
say they look strangely at home on our front gallery,
pacing up and down. . . . And a stranger and a Yankee
occupies our father's place at the table where he
presided for thirty-one years. . . . And the old lamp
that lighted up so many eager, laughing faces around
the dear old table night after night; that with its
great beaming eye watched us one by one as we
grew up and left our home; that witnessed every
parting and every meeting; by which we sang,
read, talked, danced, and made merry; the lamp
that Hal asked for as soon as he beheld the glittering
chandeliers of the new innovation, gas; the lamp
that all agreed should go to me among other
treasures, and be cased in glass to commemorate
the old days, - our old lamp has passed into the
hands of strangers who neither know nor care for
its history. And mother's bed (which, with the table
and father's little ebony stand, alone remained
uninjured) belongs now to a Yankee woman! Father
prized his ebony table. He said he meant to have a
gold plate placed in its centre, with an inscription,

and I meant to have it done myself when he died so
soon after. A Yankee now sips his tea over it, just
where some beau or beauty of the days of Charles II
may have rested a laced sleeve or dimpled arm. . . .1

Give the devil his due.
Bless Yankees for one
thing; they say they tried hard to save our State
House.

BOOK IV

From my sick bed, this 15th day of January, 1863.
LINWOOD, Thursday.

AM I not glad to get
another blank book! On Sunday
my old one gave out, to my unspeakable distress,
and I would have been désolée if I had not had three
or four letters to answer, as writing is my chief
occupation during my tedious illness. O that unfortunate
trip to Port Hudson! Have I not cause to remember
and regret it? Two months last Sunday since I have
been lying here a cripple, and I am not yet able to
take a step. However, on Monday mother sent Dr.
Woods as my fourth physician, and I have made up
my mind that either he or Nature will effect a cure
before long. Wonder how it feels to walk? It makes
me weary to see others try it; I always fear that the
exertion must be very painful - an absurd idea
which I endeavor to keep to myself. . . .

Monday, January 19th.

That blessed Mr. Halsey
like an angel of mercy
sent me "Kate Coventry" yesterday, just when I
was pining for a bonne bouche of some kind, I did not
care what, whether a stick of candy or an equally
palatable book. It is delightful to have one's wishes
realized as soon as they are made. I think it rather
caused me to relent towards Mr. Halsey; I did not

feel half so belligerent as I did just the Sunday
before. At all events, I felt well enough to go down in
the evening when he called again, though I had been
too indisposed to do so on a previous occasion. (O
Sarah!)

Wheeled into the parlor, there I beheld not my
friend alone, but several other individuals whose
presence rather startled me. I found myself undergoing
the terrors of an introduction to a Colonel Locke,
and to my unspeakable surprise, Major Buckner was
claiming the privilege of shaking hands with me, and
Colonel Steadman was on the other side, and - was
that Mr. Halsey? O never! The Mr. Halsey I knew
was shockingly careless of his dress, never had his
hair smooth; let his beard grow as it would, and wore
a most ferocious slouched hat. This one had taken
more than one look at the glass, a thing I should
have imagined the other incapable of doing. He had
bestowed the greatest care and attention on his dress,
had brought his beard within reasonable limits, had
combed his hair with the greatest precision, and held
lightly in one hand an elegant little cap that I am
sure must be provokingly becoming. Why, he was
handsome! Ah ça! some mistake, surely, I cried to
myself. My Mr. Halsey was not, certainly! "If it be
I, as I hope it may be, I've a little dog at home who
will surely know me," I kept repeating. I resolved to
test the little dog's sagacity, so I pretended to know
this apparition, and thanked him for the pleasure he
had afforded me by sending me "Kate Coventry."

He looked conscious and pleased! The "little dog"
had found out his identity! I was more puzzled than
ever. How account for this wondrous change? . . .
But metaphorphosed "John" talked! He was
expatiating at a most extraordinary rate, and had
been doing so for an hour after supper, when Gibbes
drew his chair near me (Gibbes likes to hear what
visitors say to his little sister); whereupon timid Mr.
Halsey drew his slightly back, and very soon after
asked for his horse. O Gibbes! you wretch! what an
amusing tête-à-tête you spoiled, you innocent! And
the General, of course, only waited for his exit before
beginning to tease me unmercifully. I must put an
end to this; they shall not bring such unjust charges
against him. Yet how am I to make them see reason?

Night.

I am more pleased
to-night than I could well
express. I have been talking to an old and dear friend,
no other than Will Pinckney! His arrival was as
unexpected as it was agreeable. The cry of "Here
comes Will Pinckney" sent me back to August, '60,
when the words were always the forerunner of fun
and frolic. . . . He told me what he called his secrets;
of how he had been treated by the War Department
(which has, indeed, behaved shockingly towards the
Colonel).

Thursday, 22d January.

What a rush of visitors
last night! One would
imagine they had all come by appointment, expressly

to have an impromptu dance, which they
certainly enjoyed, by the way. There was little
Captain C-, the Susceptible and Simple, who
so innocently says "I seen" and "I done it," without
the faintest suspicion of the peculiarity, and looks
so sweet, and guileless, and amiable, and soft, that I
can't help wondering if he would be sticky if I touch
him. Indeed, I think his hands stick, at least; for
when he told me good-bye, it was with the greatest
difficulty that I extracted mine from his grasp (he
having forgotten to return it during a long farewell
address), and even when I succeeded in recovering
it, by being almost rude, it was not released without
a very sensible pressure from the putty, or whatever
it is that is so tenacious. I am afraid it is rather a
habit of his, which has lost all force or meaning by
being too frequently repeated. Then there was a
horrid little wretch, vulgar and underbred (to my
idea), to whom I was introduced as Mr. G-. . . .
But here is Lieutenant Dupré, whom I have
not yet introduced, though we have met before. Tall,
good-looking, a fine form, and not a sparkling face, I am
inclined to believe that his chief merit lies in his legs.
Certainly when he dances he puts his best foot
forward, and knows it, too. Miriam, who adores
dancing, is flirting openly with this divinity of the
"Deux Temps" and polka, and skims around with
his arm about her (position sanctified by the lively
air Lydia is dashing off on the piano) with a grace
and lightness only equaled by his own. And Lieutenant

Duggan, with his good, honest, clever face
which so unmistakably proclaims him "Tom," we
know already, so no further description is needed.
Captain Fenner, too, is well known, with his short,
though graceful figure, his good-humored, intelligent
face, irresistible imperial, and that roguish expression
about that large mouth which displays such handsome
teeth, and seems to say, "Don't trust me too far."

Little Captain C- tells me a long story about
how Colonel Steadman had come to him and asked
if he believed it possible that Miss Morgan had put
her life and happiness in the hands of a homeopathic
physician; how he considered her fate sealed; and
what a shame it was to trifle with such a sad affair,
at my age, too, ruined for life! It was dreadful! Too
sad! Hereupon, as continuing the story, he remarks
that being asked his opinion by the Colonel, he
agreed perfectly and thought with him it was an
appalling sacrifice, and oh, all sorts of things!
Anything, just to make me miserable and unhappy!

Well, what is written will come to pass. First
comes a doctor with a butchering apparatus who
cups and bleeds me unmercifully, says I'll walk ten
days after, and exit. Enter another. Croton oil and
strychnine pills, that'll set me up in two weeks. And
exit. Enter a third. Sounds my bones and pinches them
from my head to my heels. Tells of the probability
of a splinter of bone knocked off my left hip,
the possibility of paralysis in the leg, the certainty

of a seriously injured spine, and the necessity for
the most violent counter-irritants. Follow blisters
which sicken even disinterested people to look at,
and a trifle of suffering which I come very near
acknowledging to myself. Enter the fourth. Inhuman
butchery! wonder they did not kill you! Take three
drops a day out of this tiny bottle, and presto! in
two weeks you are walking! A fifth, in the character
of a friend, says, "My dear young lady, if you do,
your case is hopeless." What wonder that I am
puzzled? A wiser head would be confused. I want
to believe all, but how is it possible? "What will be,
will be."

Bon! here comes a note from Mr. Halsey! Ah ça!
Lend him "Zaidee"? Certainly! Here is a postscript
three times the length of the note; voyons. Will Miss
Sarah make the annotations he requested, in "Kate
Coventry"? He is anxious to have the lady's opinion
on the questions of taste and propriety which so
frequently occur in the book. . . . I'll not attempt
such a display; yet there are several passages I am
dying to mark. One in particular, speaking of the
peculiarities of men, of how they are always more at
ease when they have their hands employed, drawing
confidence and conversation from a paper-knife and
book to tumble, a pair of scissors and a thread to
snip, or even from imbibing the head of a cane, I am
anxious to call his attention to. If I dared add to
the list, "or a cord and tassel to play with"! This

nervous Mr. Halsey is wearing out my pretty blue
tassel that Frank admires so much; he says he can
talk better when he dangles it. Think the hint might
save it in the future!

Friday night, January 23d.

I am particularly happy
to-day, for we have just
heard from Brother for the first time since last July.
And he is well, and happy, and wants us to come to
him in New Orleans so he can take care of us, and no
longer be so anxious for our safety. If we only could!
- To be sure the letter is from a gentleman who is
just out of the city, who says he writes at Brother's
earnest request; still it is something to hear, even
indirectly. One hundred and fifty dollars he encloses
with the request that mother will draw for any
amount she wishes. Dear Brother, money is the
least thing we need; first of all, we are dying for want
of a home. If we could only see ours once more!

During this time we have heard incidentally of
Brother; of his having taken the oath of allegiance -
which I am confident he did not do until Butler's
October decree - of his being a prominent Union man,
of his being a candidate for the Federal Congress,
and of his withdrawal; and finally of his having
gone to New York and Washington, from which
places he only returned a few weeks since. That is all
we ever heard. A very few people have been insolent
enough to say to me, "Your brother is as good
a Yankee as any." My blood boils as I answer, "Let
him be President Lincoln if he will, and I would

love him the same." And so I would. Politics cannot
come between me and my father's son. What he
thinks right, is right, for him, though not for me. If
he is for the Union, it is because he believes it to be
in the right, and I honor him for acting from conviction,
rather than from dread of public opinion. If he
were to take up the sword against us to-morrow,
Miriam and I, at least, would say, "If he thinks it
his duty, he is right; we will not forget he is our
father's child." And we will not. From that sad
day when the sun was setting for the first time on our
father's grave, when the great, strong man sobbed
in agony at the thought of what we had lost, and
taking us both on his lap put his arms around us and
said, "Dear little sisters, don't cry; I will be father
and brother, too, now," he has been both. He respects
our opinions, we shall respect his. I confess
myself a rebel, body and soul. Confess? I glory in it!
Am proud of being one; would not forego the title
for any other earthly one!

Though none could regret the dismemberment
of our old Union more than I did at the time, though I
acknowledge that there never was a more unnecessary
war than this in the beginning, yet once in earnest, from
the secession of Louisiana I date my change of sentiment.
I have never since then looked back; forward, forward!
is the cry; and as the Federal States sink each day in more
appalling folly and disgrace, I grow prouder still of my own
country and rejoice that we can no longer be confounded

with a nation which shows so little fortitude in
calamity, so little magnanimity in its hour of triumph.
Yes! I am glad we are two distinct tribes! am proud
of my country; only wish I could fight in the ranks with
our brave soldiers, to prove my enthusiasm; would think
death, mutilation, glorious in such a cause; cry, "War
to all eternity before we submit." But if I can't fight, being
unfortunately a woman, which I now regret for the first
time in my life, at least I can help in other ways. What
fingers can do in knitting and sewing for them, I have
done with the most intense delight; what words of
encouragement and praise could accomplish, I have
tried on more than one bold soldier boy, and not
altogether in vain; I have lost my home and all its
dear contents for our Southern Rights, have stood
on its deserted hearthstone and looked at the ruin of
all I loved - without a murmur, almost glad of the
sacrifice if it would contribute its mite towards the
salvation of the Confederacy. And so it did, indirectly;
for the battle of Baton Rouge which made
the Yankees, drunk with rage, commit outrages in
our homes that civilized Indians would blush to
perpetrate, forced them to abandon the town as
untenable, whereby we were enabled to fortify Port
Hudson here, which now defies their strength. True
they have reoccupied our town; that Yankees live in
our house; but if our generals said burn the whole
concern, would I not put the torch to our home
readily, though I love its bare skeleton still?

Indeed I would, though I know what it is to be without
one. Don't Lilly and mother live in a wretched
cabin in vile Clinton while strangers rest under our
father's roof? Yankees, I owe you one for that!

Well! I boast myself Rebel, sing "Dixie,"
shout Southern Rights, pray for God's blessing on
our cause, without ceasing, and would not live in
this country if by any possible calamity we should be
conquered; I am only a woman, and that is the way
I feel. Brother may differ. What then? Shall I respect,
love him less? No! God bless him! Union or
Secession, he is always my dear, dear Brother, and
tortures could not make me change my opinion.

Friday, January 30th.

A whole week has passed
since I opened this book,
a week certainly not spent in idleness, if not a very
interesting one. For I have kept my room almost
all the time, leaving Miriam and Anna to entertain
their guests alone. Even when Mr. Halsey called on
Sunday, I declined going down. Why, I wonder? I
felt better than usual, was in a splendid humor for
talking, yet - my excuses took my place, and I lay
quietly in bed, dreaming by the firelight, and singing
hymns to myself. Once in a while the thought would
occur to me, "Why don't I go down?" But it was
always answered with a wry face, and the hymn
went on. Yet I knew he had come expecting to see me.

On the table near me stood a bunch of snowdrops
that Miriam had culled for her beloved Captain Bradford.

An idea struck me so suddenly that my voice
died instantly. The spirit of mischief had taken
possession of me. Laughing to myself, I caught them
up, drew three long bright hairs from my head - they
looked right gold-y in the firelight - and tied them
around the flowers - I thought I should never get
to the end while wrapping them. Thus secured, a
servant carried them into the parlor with "Miss
Sarah's compliments to Mr. Halsey." Poor Miriam's
cry of surprise at finding her flowers thus appropriated,
reached my ears and caused me to laugh again.
It was rather cool! But then it was better fun than
going down. And then did n't it flatter his vanity!
O men! you vain creatures! A woman would receive
a whole bunch of hair and forty thousand bouquets,
without having her head turned; while you - Well!
I heard enough from Miriam to amuse me, at all
events.

And a day or two after, Captain Bradford had a
long story to tell her - what he called a good joke
on Mr. Halsey. Of how he had found him kissing
three long bright hairs in rapture, and on asking
where he got them, received as an answer - "From
the God-blessedest little angel that ever wore long
hair!" This blessedest little angel did not intend it
as a souvenir, and is consequently annoyed about
stories of three hairs, intended as a string and nothing
more, being wrapped in tissue paper and treasured
up - so goes the tale - instead of being thrown
into the fire as I certainly expected.

Last night Anna and Miriam sat on my bed at
twilight, playing cards while I tried my guitar, when
Captain C-, Major Spratley, and Lieutenant Dupré
were announced. Quick, down went the cards as
they sprang to their feet to throw off their neat calicoes.
Where was Miriam's comb, and grenadine, and
collar, and belt? Good gracious! where was her
buckle? On the bureau, mantel, washstand, or under
them? "Please move a moment, Anna!" In such a
hurry, do! There was Anna, "Wait! I'm in a hurry,
too! Where is that pomatum? You Malvina! if you
don't help me, I'll -There! take that, Miss! Now fly
around!" Malvina, with a faint, dingy pink suddenly
brought out on her pale seagreen face, did fly around,
while I, hushing my guitar in the tumult, watch each
running over the other, in silent amazement, wondering
if order can come out of such confusion, and if the people
downstairs were worth all that trouble.

When I finally made my appearance in the parlor,
it was with the conviction that I would have a dreadfully
stupid time, and Captain C- too. However, though
at first I had both, soon only the last was left me.
Some one suggested calling the Spirits, which
game I had imagined "played out" long ago; and
we derived a great deal of amusement from it.
Six of us around a small table invoked them with
the usual ceremony. There was certainly no trick
played; every finger was above the board, and all

feet sufficiently far from the single leg to insure fair
play. Every rap seemed to come exactly from the
centre of the table, and was painfully distinct
though not loud. When asked if there was a writing
medium present, it indicated Captain C-. I observed
that he seemed averse to trying it, but yielded at
length and took the pencil in his hand.

Our first question, of course, was, How long before
Peace? Nine months was written. Which foreign nation
would recognize us first? France, then England, in
eight months. Who was Miriam to marry? Captain
of a battery. "Who?" we all shouted. "Captain C. E.
Fenner "1 was
written again. When? In ten months.
I believe Captain C- to be honest about it. He seemed
to have no control over his hand, and his arm trembled
until it became exceedingly painful. Of course, I do not
actually believe in Spiritualism; but there is certainly
something in it one cannot understand; and Mrs. Badger's
experience is enough to convert one, alone. Each was
startled in turn by extraordinary revelations concerning
themselves. Gibbes was to be transferred to the
Trans-Mississippi Department,2 George would come
home, and all the gentlemen had the name and address
of future sweethearts written in full. The question was asked,
"Who will Sarah Morgan fall in love with?" Every eye was on the

pencil as a capital "H" was traced. As the "a"
followed, I confess to a decided disgust at the Spirits,
and was about to beg it might be discontinued when
the rest followed rapidly until in three separate lines
appeared, "Has not seen him yet" (here came an
exclamation of surprise from Lydia and Miriam,
who knew how true it was, and even Gibbes looked
astonished). "Captain, in Virginia. Captain Charles
Lewis."1 A
perfect buzz of comments followed;
every one asked every one else if they knew any one
by that name, and every one said no. Gibbes was
decidedly more interested than I. That odd "Has
not seen him yet," expressing so exactly the fact that
I pride myself upon, carried conviction in the truth
of Spirits, almost. "Who will she marry?" asked
Gibbes. (He has a pet belief, in which I encourage
him, that I will never marry.) Again came the name
as distinctly as before, of Captain Charles Lewis.
"When will she marry him?" "In June, 1864," was
the answer. I was to meet him in New Orleans.
November followed, after a period.

Of course, the Spirits
produced some slight
commotion which made the time pass pleasantly
until Miriam began to waltz with her Monsieur Deux
Temps. Then Captain C- told me why he had
been unwilling to try it; of how his father believed
so strongly in it that he had very nearly been made

crazy by it, and how he had sworn to abandon
the practice of consulting them, seeing the effect
produced. He did not believe in Spirits himself;
but could not account for the influence he was
under, when he saw his hand involuntarily write
things he was totally unconscious of, himself.
However, he proposed that we two should have
a private consultation with them, which I opened
by asking when I should again see my home. I
know he did not know anything about it; but on
the paper appeared - "Five months have gone -
five months more." It is just five months since I
did see home. I think it was the 26th of August
that Charlie took me there. He asked if he should
ever marry. "Never. You will be jilted by the lady
you love in Missouri, Miss Christina P-." I pointed
it out to him, as he happened to be looking at me
when it was written. It surprised him into saying,
"Why, I'm engaged to her!" I asked whose spirit
was communicating with us. He was watching the
dance when his hand wrote, "John C-." I laughed
and asked if there was such a person, pointing to
the name. He looked actually sick as he said, "Yes,
my brother; he is dead." I had not the heart to talk of
Spirits again; so we took to writing poetry together,
every alternate line falling to my lot. It made an odd
jingle, the sentimental first line being turned to broad
farce by my absurd second one.

A letter from Lavinia has
come to me all the way
from California. How happy it made me, though
written so long ago! Only the 30th of June! Lavinia
has changed, changed. There is a sad, worn-out
tone in every line; it sounds old, as though she had
lived years and years ago and was writing as though
she were dead and buried long since. Lavinia, whose
letters used to keep me in sunshine for weeks at a
time! Well! no wonder she is sad. All these dreary
years from home, with so faint a hope of ever again
seeing it, and all these sorrows and troubles that
have befallen us, combined, are not calculated to
make her happy. But I wish she had kept her cheerful
heart. Well, perhaps it is easier for us to be
cheerful and happy, knowing the full extent of our
calamities, than it is for her, knowing so little and
having just cause to fear so much. Courage! Better
days are coming! And then I'll have many a funny
tale to tell her of the days when the Yankees kept us
on the qui vive, or made us run for our lives. It will
"tell" merrily; be almost as lively as those running
days were. One of my chief regrets over my
helplessness is that I will not be able to run in the
next stampede. I used to enjoy it. Oh, the days gone
by, the dreary days, when, cut off from our own
people, and surrounded by Yankees, we used to
catch up any crumb of news favorable to our side
that was smuggled into town, and the Brunots and I
would write each other little dispatches of consolation

and send them by little negroes! Those were dismal
days. Yet how my spirits would rise when the long
roll would beat, and we would prepare for flight!

Monday, February 9th, 1863. Night.

A letter from my dear
little Jimmy! How glad I
am, words could not express. This is the first since
he arrived in England, and now we know what
has become of him at last. While awaiting the
completion of the ironclad gunboat to which he
has been appointed, like a trump he has put himself
to school, and studies hard, which is evident
from the great improvement he already exhibits in
his letter. . . .

My delight at hearing from Jimmy is overcast by
the bad news Lilly sends of mother's health. I have
been unhappy about her for a long while; her health
has been wretched for three months; so bad, that
during all my long illness she has never been with
me after the third day. I was never separated from
mother for so long before; and I am homesick, and
heartsick about her. Only twenty miles apart, and
she with a shocking bone felon in her hand and that
dreadful cough, unable to come to me, whilst I am
Iying helpless here, as unable to get to her. I feel
right desperate about it. This evening Lilly writes
of her having chills and fevers, and looking very, very
badly. So Miriam started off instantly to see her.
My poor mother! She will die if she stays in Clinton
I know she will!

Gibbes has gone back to his regiment. I can't say
how dreary I felt when he came to tell me good-bye.
I did not mean to cry; but how could I help it when
he put his arms around me? . . .

Sunday, February 22d, 1863.

Mother has come to me! O how glad I was to
see her this morning! And the Georgia project,
which I dared not speak of for fear it should be mere
talk and nothing more, is a reality. - Yes! we are
actually going! I can hardly believe that such good
fortune as getting out of that wretched Clinton really
awaits us. Perhaps I shall not like Augusta either; a
stranger in a strange city is not usually enchanted
with everything one beholds; but still - a change of
scene - a new country - new people - it is worth
while! Shall we really go? Will some page in this
book actually record "Augusta, Georgia"? No! I
dare not believe it! Yet the mere thought has given
me strength within the last two weeks to attempt
to walk. Learning to walk at my age! Is it not
amusing? But the smallest baby knows more
about it than I did at first. Of course, I knew one foot
was to be put before the other; but the question was
how it was to be done when they would not go? I have
conquered that difficulty, however, and can now walk
almost two yards, if some one holds me fast.

Sunset. Will [Pinckney] has this instant left.
Ever since dinner he has been vehemently opposing

the Georgia move, insisting that it will cost me my
life, by rendering me a confirmed cripple. He says
he could take care of me, but no one else can, so I
must not be moved. I am afraid his arguments have
about shaken mother's resolution. Pshaw! it will do
me good! I must go. It will not do to remain here.
Twenty-seven thousand Yankees are preparing to
march on Port Hudson, and this place will certainly
be either occupied by them, or burned. To go to
Clinton is to throw myself in their hands, so why not
one grand move to Augusta?

Monday, February 23d.

Here goes! News has been
received that the
Yankees are already packed, ready to march
against us at any hour. If I was up and well, how my
heart would swell with exultation. As it is, it throbs
so with excitement that I can scarcely lie still. Hope
amounts almost to presumption at Port Hudson.
They are confident that our fifteen thousand can
repulse twice the number. Great God! - I say it
with all reverence - if we could defeat them! If we
could scatter, capture, annihilate them! My heart
beats but one prayer - Victory! I shall grow wild
repeating it. In the mean time, though, Linwood is
in danger. This dear place, my second home; its
loved inhabitants; think of their being in such peril!
Oh, I shall cry heartily if harm comes to them! But
I must leave before. No use of leaving my bones for
the Yankees to pick; better sing "Dixie" in Georgia.

To-morrow, consequently, I go to that earthly
paradise, Clinton, thence to be re-shipped (so
goes the present programme) to Augusta in three
days. And no time for adieux! Wonder who will be
surprised, who vexed, and who will cry over the
unforeseen separation? Not a single "good-bye"!
Nothing - except an old brass button that Mr. Halsey
gave me as a souvenir in case he should be killed
in the coming assault. It is too bad. Ah! Destiny!
Destiny! Where do you take us? During these two
trying years, I have learned to feel myself a mere
puppet in the hands of a Something that takes me
here to-day, to-morrow there, always unexpectedly,
and generally very unwillingly, but at last leads me
somewhere or other, right side up with care, after
a thousand troubles and distresses. The hand of
Destiny is on me now; where will it lead me?

Tuesday [February] 24th.

Meeting Miriam by mere accident on the road
last evening and hearing of our surprising journey to
Georgia, Mr. Halsey came to spend a last evening
with us, and say good-bye. What a deluge of regrets,
hopes, fears, etc. Perfectly overwhelming. Why had
I not told him of it the night before? All our friends
would be so disappointed at not having an opportunity
of saying good-bye. If the Yankees would only
postpone their attack so he might accompany us!
But no matter; he would come on in two months,
and meet us there. And would we not write to him?

Thank you! Miriam may, but I shall hardly do so!
We had such a pleasant evening together, talking
over our trip. Then we had a dozen songs on the
guitar, gay, sad, and sentimental; then he gave me
a sprig of jessamine as a keepsake, and I ripped
open my celebrated "running-bag" to get a real for
true silver five cents - a perfect curiosity in these
days - which I gave him in exchange, and which
he promised to wear on his watch-chain. He and
Miriam amused themselves examining the contents
of my sack and laughing at my treasures, the
wretches! Then came-good-bye. I think he was
sorry to see us go. Well! he ought to miss us! Ah!
these farewells! To-day I bid adieu to Linwood. "It
may be for years, and it may be forever!" This
good-bye will cost me a sigh.

Wednesday, February 25th.

Here we are still, in
spite of our expectations.
Difficulty on difficulty arose, and an hour before
the cars came, it was settled that mother should
go to Clinton and make the necessary arrangements,
and leave us to follow in a day or two. Two days
more! Miriam no more objected than I did, so mother
went alone. Poor Miriam went to bed soon after,
very ill. So ill that she lay groaning in bed at dusk,
when a stir was heard in the hall below, and Colonel
Steadman, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupré were
announced. Presto! up she sprang, and flew about
in the most frantic style, emptying the trunk on the
floor to get her prettiest dress, and acting as though

she had never heard of pains and groans. When
we leave, how much I shall miss the fun of seeing
her and Anna running over each other in their
excitement of dressing for their favorites. Anna's
first exclamation was, "Ain't you glad you did n't
go!" and certainly we were not sorry, from mere
compassion; for what would she have done with
all three? If I laughed at their extra touches to their
dresses, it did not prevent me from bestowing
unusual attention on my own. And by way of bravado,
when I was carried down, I insisted on Mrs. Badger
lending me her arm, to let me walk into the parlor
and prove to Colonel Steadman that in spite of his
prophecies I was able to take a few steps at least.

His last words, "You won't go, will you? Think
once more!" sent me upstairs wondering, thinking,
undecided, and unsatisfied, hardly knowing what
to do, or what to say. Every time I tried to sleep,
those calm, deep, honest gray eyes started up
before my closed ones, and that earnest "You
won't go, will you ? Think once more!" rang in my
ears like a solemn warning. Hopes of seeing
Georgia grew rather faint, that night. Is it lawful to
risk my life? But is it not better to lose it while
believing that I have still a chance of saving it by
going, than to await certain death calmly and
unresisting in Clinton? I'd rather die struggling for
this life, this beautiful, loved, blessed life that God
has given me!

I had so many nice things
to say - which now,
alas, are knocked forever from my head - when
news came that the Yankees were advancing on
us, and were already within fifteen miles. The panic
which followed reminded me forcibly of our running
days in Baton Rouge. Each one rapidly threw into
trunks all clothing worth saving, with silver and
valuables, to send to the upper plantation. I sprang
up, determined to leave instantly for Clinton so
mother would not be alarmed for our safety; but
before I got halfway dressed, Helen Carter came
in, and insisted on my remaining, declaring that
my sickness and inability to move would prove a
protection to the house, and save it from being
burned over their heads. Put on that plea, though I
have no faith in melting the bowels of compassion
of a Yankee, myself, I consented to remain, as Miriam
urgently represented the dangers awaiting Clinton.
So she tossed all we owned into our trunk to send to
mother as hostage of our return, and it is now awaiting
the cars. My earthly possessions are all reposing
by me on the bed at this instant, consisting of my
guitar, a change of clothes, running-bag, cabas, and
this book. For in spite of their entreaties, I would
not send it to Clinton, expecting those already there
to meet with a fiery death - though I would like
to preserve those of the most exciting year of my
life. They tell me that this will be read aloud to me

to torment me, but I am determined to burn it if
there is any danger of that. Why, I would die without
some means of expressing my feelings in the
stirring hours so rapidly approaching. I shall keep
it by me.

Such bustle and confusion! Every one
hurried, anxious, excited, whispering, packing
trunks, sending them off; wondering negroes
looking on in amazement until ordered to mount
the carts waiting at the door, which are to carry
them too away. How disappointed the Yankees
will be at finding only white girls instead of their
dear sisters and brothers whom they love so
tenderly! Sorry for their disappointment!

"They say " they are advancing in overwhelming
numbers. That is nothing, so long as God helps us,
and from our very souls we pray His blessing on us in
this our hour of need. For myself, I cannot yet fully
believe they are coming. It would be a relief to have
it over. I have taken the responsibility of Lydia's
jewelry on my shoulders, and hope to be able to
save it in the rush which will take place. Down at
the cars Miriam met Frank Enders, going to Clinton
in charge of a car full of Yankees, - deserters, who
came into our lines. He thinks, just as I do, that our
trunks are safer here than there. Now that they are
all off, we all agree that it was the most foolish thing
we could have done. These Yankees interfere with
all our arrangements.

selfish thought occurred to me a while ago. I was
lamenting to myself all the troubles that surround
us, the dangers and difficulties that perplex us, thinking
of the probable fate that might befall some of our
brave friends and defenders in Port Hudson, when
I thought, too, of the fun we would miss. Horrid,
was it not? But worse than that, I was longing for
something to read, when I remembered Frank told
me he had sent to Alexandria for Bulwer's "Strange
Story" for me, and then I unconsciously said, "How
I wish it would get here before the Yankees!" I am
very anxious to read it, but confess I am ashamed of
having thought of it at such a crisis. So I toss up the
farthing Frank gave me for a keepsake the other day,
and say I'll try in future to think less of my own
comfort and pleasure.

Poor Mr. Halsey! What a sad fate the pets he
procures for me meet! He stopped here just now on
his way somewhere, and sent me a curious bundle
with a strange story, by Miriam. It seems he got a
little flying-squirrel for me to play with (must know
my partiality for pets), and last night, while attempting
to tame him, the little creature bit his finger,
whereupon he naturally let him fall on the ground,
(Temper!) which put a period to his existence. He
had the nerve to skin him after the foul murder, and
sent all that remains of him out to me to prove his
original intention. The softest, longest, prettiest
fur, and such a duck of a tail! Poor little animal
could n't have been larger than my fist. Wonder if

its spirit will meet with that of the little bird which
flew heavenward with all that pink ribbon and my
letter from Mr. Halsey?

Saturday, March 14th.
5 o'clock, P.M.

They are coming! The
Yankees are coming at
last! For four or five hours the sound of their cannon
has assailed our ears. There! - that one shook my
bed! Oh, they are coming! God grant us the victory!
They are now within four miles of us, on the big
road to Baton Rouge. On the road from town to
Clinton, we have been fighting since daylight at
Readbridge, and have been repulsed. Fifteen
gunboats have passed Vicksburg, they say. It will
be an awful fight. No matter! With God's help we'll
conquer yet! Again! - the report comes nearer. Oh,
they are coming! Coming to defeat, I pray God.

Only we seven women remain in the house. The
General left this morning, to our unspeakable relief.
They would hang him, we fear, if they should find
him here. Mass' Gene has gone to his company; we
are left alone here to meet them. If they will burn
the house, they will have to burn me in it. For I
cannot walk, and I know they shall not carry me.
I'm resigned. If I should burn, I have friends and
brothers enough to avenge me. Create such a
consternation! Better than being thrown from a
buggy - only I'd not survive to hear of it!

actually at their door. With more money than they
could use in ordinary times, they can find nothing to
purchase. Not a scrap of meat in the house for a
week. No pork, no potatoes, fresh meat obtained
once as a favor, and poultry and flour articles
unheard of. Besides that, Tiche crippled, and
Margret very ill, while Liddy has run off to the
Yankees. Heaven only knows what will become
of them. The other day we were getting ready to
go to them (Thursday) when the General disapproved
of my running such a risk, saying he'd call it a d-
piece of nonsense, if I asked what he thought; so we
remained. They will certainly starve soon enough
without our help; and yet - I feel we should all be
together still. That last superfluous word is the refrain
of Gibbes's song that is ringing in my ears, and
that I am chanting in a kind of ecstasy of excitement: -

"Then let the cannon boom as it will,
We'll be gay and happy still!"

And we will be happy in
spite of Yankee guns!
Only - my dear This, That, and the Other, at
Port Hudson, how I pray for your safety! God
spare our brave soldiers, and lead them to victory!
I write, touch my guitar, talk, pick lint, and pray so
rapidly that it is hard to say which is my occupation.
I sent Frank some lint the other day, and a bundle of
it for Mr. Halsey is by me. Hope neither will need
it! But to my work again!

It has come at last! What an awful sound! I
thought I had heard a bombardment before; but
Baton Rouge was child's play compared to this.
At half-past eleven came the first gun - at least
the first I heard, and I hardly think it could have
commenced many moments before. Instantly I
had my hand on Miriam, and at my first exclamation,
Mrs. Badger and Anna answered. All three sprang
to their feet to dress, while all four of us prayed aloud.
Such an incessant roar! And at every report the
house shaking so, and we thinking of our dear
soldiers, the dead and dying, and crying aloud for
God's blessing on them, and defeat and overthrow
to their enemies. That dreadful roar! I can't think
fast enough. They are too quick to be counted. We
have all been in Mrs. Carter's room, from the last
window of which we can see the incessant flash of the
guns and the great shooting stars of flame, which
must be the hot shot of the enemy. There is a burning
house in the distance, the second one we have seen
to-night. For Yankees can't prosper unless they are
pillaging honest people. Already they have stripped
all on their road of cattle, mules, and negroes.

Gathered in a knot within and without the window,
we six women up here watched in the faint starlight
the flashes from the guns, and silently wondered
which of our friends were Iying stiff and dead, and
then, shuddering at the thought, betook ourselves
to silent prayer. I think we know what it is to

"wrestle with God in prayer"; we had but one
thought. Yet for women, we took it almost too
coolly. No tears, no cries, no fear, though for the
first five minutes everybody's teeth chattered
violently. Mrs. Carter had her husband in Fenner's
battery, the hottest place if they are attacked by
the land force, and yet to my unspeakable relief she
betrayed no more emotion than we who had only
friends there. We know absolutely nothing; when
does one ever know anything in the country? But
we presume that this is an engagement between
our batteries and the gunboats attempting to
run the blockade.

Firing has slackened considerably. All are to lie
down already dressed; but being in my nightgown
from necessity, I shall go to sleep, though we may
expect at any instant to hear the tramp of Yankee
cavalry in the yard.

Sunday, March 15th.

To my unspeakable
surprise, I waked up this
morning and found myself alive. Once satisfied of
that, and assuring myself of intense silence in the
place of the great guns which rocked me to sleep
about half-past two this morning, I began to doubt
that I had heard any disturbance in the night, and
to believe I had written a dream within a dream,
and that no bombardment had occurred; but all
corroborate my statement, so it must be true, and
this portentous silence is only the calm before the
storm. I am half afraid the land force won't attack.

We can beat them if they do; but suppose they lay
siege to Port Hudson and starve us out? That is the
only way they can conquer.

We hear nothing still that is reliable.

Just before daylight there was a terrific explosion
which electrified every one save myself. I was
sleeping so soundly that I did not hear anything of
it, though Mrs. Badger says that when she sprang
up and called me, I talked very rationally about it,
and asked what it could possibly be. Thought that I
had ceased talking in my sleep. Miriam was quite
eloquent in her dreams before the attack, crying
aloud, "See! See! What do I behold?" as though she
were witnessing a rehearsal of the scene to follow.

Later. Dr. Kennedy has just passed through, and
was within the fortifications last night; brings news
which is perhaps reliable, as it was obtained from
Gardiner. It was, as we presumed, the batteries and
gunboats. One we sunk; another, the Mississippi, we
disabled so that the Yankees had to abandon and
set fire to her, thirty-nine prisoners falling into our
hands. It was her magazine that exploded this
morning. Two other boats succeeded in passing,
though badly crippled. Our batteries fired gallantly.
Hurrah! for Colonel Steadman! I know his was by
no means the least efficient!

Clinton, they say, will inevitably be sacked. Alas,
for mother and Lilly! What can we do? The whole
country is at the mercy of the Yankees as long as
Gardiner keeps within the fortifications. Six miles

below here they entered Mr. Newport's, pulled the
pillow-cases from the beds, stuffed them with his
clothes, and helped themselves generally. What can
we expect here? To tell the truth, I should be disappointed
if they did not even look in at us, on their
marauding expedition.

March 17th.

On dit the Yankees have gone back to Baton
Rouge, hearing we had sixty thousand men coming
down after them. I believe I am positively disappointed!
I did want to see them soundly thrashed! The light we
thought was another burning house was that of the
Mississippi. They say the shrieks of the men when
our hot shells fell among them, and after they were
left by their companions to burn, were perfectly
appalling.

Another letter from Lilly has distressed me beyond
measure. She says the one chicken and two dozen
eggs Miriam and I succeeded in buying from the
negroes by prayers and entreaties, saved them from
actual hunger; and for two days they had been living
on one egg apiece and some cornbread and syrup.
Great heavens! has it come to this? Nothing to be
bought in that abominable place for love or money.
Where the next meal comes from, nobody knows.

Wednesday, March 25th.

Early last evening the
tremendous clatter of a
sword that made such unnecessary noise that one
might imagine the owner thereof had betaken himself

to the favorite pastime of his childhood, and
was prancing in on his murderous weapon, having
mistaken it for his war steed, announced the arrival
of Captain Bradford, who with two friends came to
say adieu. Those vile Yankees have been threatening
Ponchatoula, and his battery, with a regiment of
infantry, was on its way there to drive them back.
The Captain sent me word of the distressing departure,
with many assurances that he would take
care of "my" John.

Scarcely had he departed, when lo! John arrives,
and speaks for himself. Yes! he is going! Only a
moment to say good-bye . . . sunset approaches.
Well! he must say good-bye now! Chorus of young
ladies: "Oh, will you not spend the evening with us?
You can easily overtake the battery later." Chorus
of married ladies: "You must not think of going.
Here is a comfortable room at your service, and
after an early breakfast you can be on the road as
soon as the others." No necessity for prayers; he
readily consents. And yet, as the evening wore on,
when we laughed loudest I could not help but think
of poor little Mrs. McPhaul sitting alone and crying
over her brother's departure, fancying his precious
bones Iying on the damp ground with only the
soldier's roof - the blue vault of heaven - above,
while two miles away he sat in a comfortable parlor
amusing himself.

About sunrise, while the most delightful dreams
floated through my brain, a little voice roused me

exclaiming, "Sady! Sady! John Hawsey say so!
Say give Sady!" I opened my eyes to see little
Gibbes standing by me, trying to lay some flowers
on my cheek, his little face sparkling with delight at
his own importance. A half-opened rosebud with the
faintest blush of pink on its creamy leaves - a
pink, and a piece of arbor vitæ, all sprinkled with
dew, this was my bouquet. The servant explained
that Mr. Halsey had just left, and sent me that with
his last good-bye. And he has gone! "And now
there's nothing left but weeping! His face I ne'er
shall see, and naught is left to me, save" - putting
away my book and all recollections of nonsense. So
here goes!

Tuesday, March 31st.

"To be, or not to
be; that's the question."
Whether 't is nobler in the Confederacy to suffer the
pangs of unappeasable hunger and never-ending
trouble, or to take passage to a Yankee port, and
there remaining, end them. Which is best? I am so
near daft that I cannot pretend to say; I only know
that I shudder at the thought of going to New Orleans,
and that my heart fails me when I think of the
probable consequence to mother if I allow a mere
outward sign of patriotism to overbalance what
should be my first consideration - her health. For
Clinton is growing no better rapidly. To be hungry
is there an everyday occurrence. For ten days,
mother writes, they have lived off just hominy

enough to keep their bodies and souls from parting,
without being able to procure another article - not
even a potato. Mother is not in a condition to stand
such privation; day by day she grows weaker on her
new regimen; I am satisfied that two months more of
danger, difficulties, perplexities, and starvation will
lay her in her grave. The latter alone is enough to
put a speedy end to her days. Lilly has been obliged
to put her children to bed to make them forget they
were supperless, and when she followed their example,
could not sleep herself, for very hunger.

We have tried in vain to find another home in the
Confederacy. After three days spent in searching
Augusta, Gibbes wrote that it was impossible to find
a vacant room for us, as the city was already crowded
with refugees. A kind Providence must have destined
that disappointment in order to save my life, if there
is any reason for Colonel Steadman's fears. We
next wrote to Mobile, Brandon, and even that horrid
little Liberty, besides making inquiries of every one
we met, while Charlie, too, was endeavoring
to find a place, and everywhere received the
same answer - not a vacant room, and provisions
hardly to be obtained at all.

The question has now resolved itself to whether
we shall see mother die for want of food in Clinton,
or, by sacrificing an outward show of patriotism (the
inward sentiment cannot be changed), go with her to
New Orleans, as Brother begs in the few letters
he contrives to smuggle through. It looks simple

enough. Ought not mother's life to be our first
consideration? Undoubtedly! But suppose we could
preserve her life and our free sentiments at the same
time? If we could only find a resting-place in the
Confederacy! This, though, is impossible. But to go
to New Orleans; to cease singing "Dixie"; to be
obliged to keep your sentiments to yourself - for I
would not wound Brother by any Ultra-Secession
speech, and such could do me no good and only
injure him - if he is as friendly with the Federals
as they say he is; to listen to the scurrilous abuse
heaped on those fighting for our homes and liberties,
among them my three brothers - could I endure it?
I fear not. Even if I did not go crazy, I would grow
so restless, homesick, and miserable, that I would
pray for even Clinton again. Oh, I don't, don't want
to go! If mother would only go alone, and leave us
with Lilly! But she is as anxious to obtain Dr.
Stone's advice for me as we are to secure her a
comfortable home; and I won't go anywhere without
Miriam, so we must all go together. Yet there is no
disguising the fact that such a move will place us
in a very doubtful position to both friends and enemies.
However, all our friends here warmly advocate
the move, and Will Pinckney and Frank both
promised to knock down any one who shrugged
their shoulders and said anything about it. But
what would the boys say? The fear of displeasing
them is my chief distress. George writes in the
greatest distress about my prolonged illness, and his

alarm about my condition. "Of one thing I am sure,"
he writes, "and that is that she deserves to recover;
for a better little sister never lived." God bless him!
My eyes grew right moist over those few words.
Loving words bring tears to them sooner than angry
ones. Would he object to such a step when he knows
that the very medicines necessary for my recovery
are not to be procured in the whole country? Would
he rather have mother dead and me a cripple, in the
Confederacy, than both well, out of it? I feel that if
we go we are wrong; but I am satisfied that it is
worse to stay. It is a distressing dilemma to be
placed in, as we are certain to be blamed whichever
course we pursue. But I don't want to go to New
Orleans!

Before I had time to lay down my pen this
evening, General Gardiner and Major Wilson
were announced; and I had to perform a hasty
toilette before being presentable. The first remark
of the General was that my face recalled many
pleasant recollections; that he had known my
family very well, but that time was probably beyond
my recollection; and he went on talking about father
and Lavinia, until I felt quite comfortable, with this
utter stranger. . . .I would prefer his speaking of "our"
recent success at Port Hudson to "my"; for we each,
man, woman, and child, feel that we share the glory of
sinking the gunboats and sending Banks back to Baton
Rouge without venturing on an attack; and it seemed
odd to hear any one assume the responsibility of the

Page 346

whole affair and say "my success" so unconsciously.
But this may be the privilege of generals. I am no
judge, as this is the first Confederate general I have
had the pleasure of seeing. Wish it had been old
Stonewall! I grow enthusiastic every time I think
of the dear old fellow!

I am indebted to General Gardiner for a great
piece of kindness, though. I was telling him of how
many enemies he had made among the ladies by his
strict regulations that now rendered it - almost
impossible for the gentlemen to obtain permission to
call on them, when he told me if I would signify to
my friends to mention when they applied that their
visit was to be here, and not elsewhere, that he
would answer for their having a pass whenever they
called for one. Merci au compliment; mais c'est
trop tard, Monsieur!

Tuesday, April 7th.

I believe that it is
for true that we are to leave for
New Orleans, via Clinton and Ponchatoula, this
evening. Clinton, at least, I am sure of. Lilly came
down for me yesterday, and according to the present
programme, though I will not answer for it in an
hour from now, we leave Linwood this evening, and
Clinton on Thursday. I am almost indifferent about
our destination; my chief anxiety is to have some
definite plans decided on, which seems perfectly
impossible from the number of times they are
changed a day. The uncertainty is really affecting
my spine, and causing me to grow alarmingly thin. . . .

Our last adieux
are said, and Linwood is left
behind, "it may be for years, and it may be forever."
My last hours were spent lying on the sofa on the
gallery, with Lydia at my feet, Helen Carter sitting
on the floor at my side, while all the rest were
gathered around me as I played for the last time
"the centre of attraction." I grew almost lachrymose
as I bid a last adieu to the bed where I have spent so
many months, as they carried me downstairs.
Wonder if it will not miss me? It must have been
at least five before the cars returned. Mrs. Carter
grew quite pathetic as they approached, while poor
little Lydia, with streaming eyes and choking sobs,
clung first to Miriam and then to me, as though we
parted to meet only in eternity. All except her
mother started in a run for the big gate, while I was
carried to the buggy through the group of servants
gathered to say good-bye, when the General drove
me off rapidly.

What a delightful sensation is motion, after five
months' inaction! The last time I was in a vehicle
was the night General Beale's ambulance brought
me to Linwood a helpless bundle, last November.
It seemed to me yesterday that I could again feel
the kind gentleman's arm supporting me, and his
wondering, sympathetic tone as he repeated every
half-mile, "Really, Miss Morgan, you are very
patient and uncomplaining!" Good, kind President
Miller! As though all the trouble was not his, just

then! But stopping at the gate roused me from my
short reverie, and I opened my eyes to find myself
stationary, and in full view of a train of cars loaded
with soldiers, literally covered with them; for they
covered the roof, as well as filled the interior, while
half a dozen open cars held them, seated one above
the other in miniature pyramids, and even the engine
was graced by their presence. Abashed with
finding myself confronted with so many people, my
sensation became decidedly alarming as a dozen rude
voices cried, "Go on! we won't stop!" and a chorus
of the opposition cried, "Yes, we will!" "No!"
"Yes!" they cried in turn, and as the General stood
me on the ground (I would have walked if it had
been my last attempt in life), I paused irresolute, not
knowing whether to advance or retreat before the
storm. I must say they are the only rude soldiers
I have yet seen in Confederate uniforms. But as I
walked slowly, clinging to the General's arm, half
from fear, and half from weakness, they ceased the
unnecessary dispute, and remained so quiet that I
was more frightened still, and actually forgot to say
good-bye to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Worley as they stood
by the road. How both the General and I escaped
being hurt as he raised me on the platform, every
one is at a loss to account for. I experienced only
what may be called slight pain, in comparison to
what I have felt; but really fear that the exertion has
disabled him for to-day. It must have been very
severe. Some officers led me to my seat, Lilly, Miriam,

and Anna got in, the General kissed us heartily,
with damp eyes and kind wishes; the cars gave a
whistle, and I put my head out of the window to see
Mrs. Carter industriously applying white cambric to
her face, which occupation she relinquished to call
out last good-byes; another whistle and a jerk, and
we were off, leaving her and Mrs. Worley, surrounded
by children and servants, using their handkerchiefs
to wipe tears and wave farewell, while the General
waved his hat for good-bye. Then green hedges
rapidly changing took their place, and Linwood
was out of sight before we had ceased saying
and thinking, God bless the kind hearts we had left
behind. Can I ever forget the kindness we have met
among them?

To see green trees and wild flowers once more,
after such an illness, is a pleasure that only those
long deprived of such beauties by a similar misfortune
can fully appreciate.

It was a relief to discover that what I had thought
shocking rudeness in the soldiers had not been
reserved for me alone. For every time we stopped,
the same cry of "No waiting for slow people" was
raised, varied by constant expostulations with the
engine for drinking ponds dry, and mild suggestions
as to taking the road the other side of the fence,
which would no doubt prove smoother than the track.
These Arkansas troops have acquired a reputation
for roughness and ignorance which they seem
to cultivate as assiduously as most people would

We arrived here about
five last evening, and,
strange to say, the journey, fatiguing as it was, has
not altogether disabled me. But I must go back to
Clinton to account for this new change. It would
never do to take more than a hundred miles at a
single jump without speaking of the incidents by the
way. Numerous and pleasant as they were, some
way they have unaccountably paled; and things
that seemed so extremely amusing, and afforded me
so much pleasure during these four days, now seem
to be absurd trifles half forgotten.

I now remember lying in state on Lilly's bed
Wednesday, talking to Mrs. Badger (who had been
several days in town), Anna, Sarah Ripley, and the
others, when Frank suddenly bolted in, just from
Port Hudson, to say another good-bye, though I told
him good-bye at Linwood Sunday. Presently the
General entered, just from Linwood, to see us off;
then Mr. Marston and his daughter, and Mr.
Neafus, all as kind as possible, until a perfect levee
was assembled, which I, Iying all dressed with a
shawl thrown over me, enjoyed all the more as I
could take my ease, and have my fun at the same
time. Frank, sitting by my pillow, talked dolorously
of how much he would miss us, and threatened to be
taken prisoner before long in order to see us again.

When we were finally left alone, I fancy there was
very little sleep in the house. As to me, I lay by Lilly
wide awake, thinking how lonely she would be without
us, and perfectly désolée at the idea of leaving the
Confederacy (the dear gray coats included); so when
it was almost sunrise there was no necessity of rousing
me to dress, as I was only too glad to leave my
sleepless bed. Before I got dressed, Anna, her mother,
and Sarah Ripley came in again; then Miss Comstock;
and just as I had put the last touch to my dress, the
gentlemen of the night before entered, and we had
almost an hour and a half's respite before the carriage,
less punctual than we, drove to the door.

The General picked me up in his arms and carried
me once more to the carriage. Then the servants
had to say good-bye; then Lilly, very quiet, very
red, and dissolved in tears, clung to me almost without
a word, hardly able to speak, whilst I, distressed
and grieved as I was, had not a tear in my eyes -
nothing but a great lump in my throat that I tried
to choke down in order to talk to Frank, who stood
at the window by me, after she left. . . . How the
distance lengthens between us! I raise up from my
pillows and find myself at Camp Moore at four
o'clock. Forty miles are passed over; good-bye,
Frank!

From Camp Moore we had to go three miles back,
to find Captain Gilman's house where we were

expected. The gentleman is a friend of Gibbes, though
I had never seen any of them before. Such a delightful
place, with everything looking so new, and cool,
and such a hospitable hostess that I thought everything
charming in spite of my fatigue. I had hardly
a moment to look around; for immediately we were
shown to our rooms, and in a very few minutes
Miriam had me undressed and in bed, the most
delightful spot in the world to me just then. While
congratulating myself on having escaped death on
the roadside, I opened my eyes to behold a tray
brought to my bedside with a variety of refreshments.
Coffee! Bread! Loaf-sugar! Preserves! I opened
my mouth to make an exclamation at the singular
optical illusion, but wisely forbore speaking,
and shut it with some of the unheard-of delicacies
instead. . . .

Early next morning the same routine was gone
through as Thursday morning. Again the carriage
drove to the door, and we were whisked off to
Camp Moore, where the engine stood snorting with
impatience to hurry us off to Ponchatoula. . . . Soon
we were steaming down the track, I reclining on my
pillows in an interesting state of invalidism, sadly
abashed now and then at the courteous, wondering
gaze of the soldiers who were aboard. Having very
little idea of the geography of that part of the country,
and knowing we were to take a carriage from
some point this side of Ponchatoula, fancying how
surprised Mr. Halsey would be to hear we had

passed him on the way, I took a card from my
traveling-case, and wrote a few words for "good-bye,"
as we could not see him again. I sealed it up, and
put it in my pocket to send to the first post-office we
passed.

About twelve o'clock we stopped at Hammond,
which was our place to disembark. Mother sent out
to hire a negro to carry me off the platform; and while
waiting in great perplexity, a young officer who had
just seated himself before me, got up and asked if he
could assist her, seizing an arm full of cloaks as he
spoke. I got up and walked to the door to appear
independent and make believe I was not the one,
when mother begged him not to trouble himself; she
wanted a man to assist her daughter who was sick.
Calling a friend, the gentleman kindly loaded him
with the cloaks, etc., while he hurried out after me.
I was looking ruefully at the impracticable step
which separated me from the platform. The question
of how I was to carry out my independent notions
began to perplex me. "Allow me to assist you,"
said a voice at my elbow. I turned and beheld the
handsome officer. "Thank you; I think I can get
down alone." "Pray allow me to lift you over this
place." "Much obliged, but your arm will suffice."
"Sarah, let the gentleman carry you! You know you
cannot walk!" said my very improper mother. I
respectfully declined the renewed offer. "Don't pay
any attention to her. Pick her up, just as you would
a child," said my incorrigible mother. The gentleman

turned very red, while Miriam asserts I turned
extremely white. The next thing I knew, by passing his
arm around my waist, or taking me by my arms -
I was so frightened that I have but a confused
idea of it - I was lifted over the intervening gulf
and landed on the platform!

Hammond boasts of four houses. One, a shoe
manufactory, stood about twenty or thirty yards off, and
there the gentleman proposed to conduct me. Again he
insisted on carrying me; and resolutely refusing, I
pronounced myself fully equal to the walk, and
accepting his proffered arm, walked off with dignity and
self-possession. He must have fancied that the injury
was in my hand; for holding my arm so that my entire
weight must have been thrown on him, not satisfied with
that support, with his other hand he held mine so
respectfully and so carefully that I could not but smile as
it struck me, which, by the way, was not until I
reached the house!

Discovering that he belonged to Colonel
Simonton's command, I asked him to take Mr.
Halsey the note I had written an hour before. He
pronounced himself delighted to be of the slightest
service, and seeing that we were strangers, traveling
unprotected, asked if we had secured a conveyance
to take us beyond. We told him no. He modestly
suggested that some gentleman might attend to it for
us. He would be happy to do anything in his power.
I thought again of Mr. Halsey, and said if he would

mention we were in Hammond, he would be kind
enough to see to it for us. "May I ask your name?" he
asked, evidently surprised to find himself asking a
question he was dying to know. I gave him my card,
whereupon mother asked his name, which he told us
was Howard. We had been talking for some ten
minutes, when feeling rather uncomfortable at being
obliged to look up at such a tall man from my low seat,
to relieve my neck as well as to shade my face from
any further scrutiny, I put down my head while I was
still speaking. Instantly, so quietly, naturally, and
unobtrusively did he stoop down by me, on one knee so
that his face was in full view of mine, that the action did
not seem to me either singular or impertinent - in fact, I
did not think of it until mother spoke of it after he left.
After a few moments it must have struck him; for he got
up and made his parting bow, departing, as I afterwards
heard, to question Tiche as to how I had been hurt, and
declaring that it was a dreadful calamity to happen to so
"lovely" a young lady.

Monday, April 13th.

Having nothing to do, I
may as well go on with the
history of our wanderings. When the cars were
moving off with the handsome Mr. Howard, mother
turned to a gentleman who seemed to own the place,
and asked to be shown the hotel. He went out, and
presently returning with a chair and two negroes,
quietly said he would take us to his own house; the
hotel was not comfortable. And, without listening

to remonstrances, led the way to a beautiful little
cottage, where he introduced his wife, Mrs. Cate,
who received us most charmingly, and had me in bed
before five minutes had elapsed. I don't know how
any one can believe the whole world so wicked; for
my part I have met none but the kindest people
imaginable; I don't know any wicked ones.

Before half an hour had passed, a visitor was
announced; so I gathered up my weary bones, and with
scarcely a peep at the glass, walked to the parlor. I
commenced laughing before I got there, and the visitor
smiled most absurdly, too; for it was - Mr. Halsey!
It seemed so queer to meet in this part of the
world that we laughed again after shaking hands.
It was odd. I was thinking how much amused the
General would be to hear of it; for he had made a bet
that we would meet when I asserted that we would
not.

After the first few remarks, he told me of how he
had heard of our arrival. A gentleman had walked
into camp, asking if a Mr. Halsey was there. He
signified that he was the gentleman, whereupon the
other drew out my note, saying a young lady on the
cars had requested him to deliver it. Instantly
recognizing the chirography, he asked where I was.
"Hammond. This is her name," replied the other,
extending to him my card. Thinking, as he modestly
confessed, that I had intended it only for him, Mr.
Halsey coolly put it into his pocket, and called for
his horse. Mr. Howard lingered still, apparently

having something to say, which he found difficult to
put in words. At last, as the other prepared to
ride off, with a tremendous effort he managed to say,
"The young lady's card is mine. If it is all the same
to you, I should like to have it returned." Apologizing
for the mistake, Mr. Halsey returned it, feeling
rather foolish, I should imagine, and rode on to the
village, leaving, as he avers, Mr. Howard looking
enviously after the lucky dog who was going to see
such a young lady.

He told me something that slightly disgusted me
with Captain Bradford. It was that when he reached
the bivouac the next morning after leaving Linwood,
the Captain had put him under arrest for having
stayed there all night. It was too mean, considering
that it is more than probable that he himself remained
at Mrs. Fluker's. We discovered, too, that we had
missed two letters Mr. Halsey had written us,
which, of course, is a great disappointment. One,
written to both, the other, a short note of ten pages,
for me, which I am sure was worth reading.

It was not until after sunset that we exhausted all
topics of conversation, and Mr. Halsey took his
leave, promising to see us in the morning.

And, to be sure, as soon as I was dressed on Saturday,
he again made his appearance, followed soon
after by the carriage. Taking a cordial leave of Mrs.
Cate, with many thanks for her hospitality, we
entered our conveyance, and with Mr. Halsey riding
by the side of the carriage, went on our way. He was

to accompany us only as far as Ponchatoula - some
six miles; but the turning-point in his journey seemed
to be an undetermined spot; for mile after mile rolled
away - rather the wheels rolled over them - and
still he rode by us, talking through the window, and
the sprays of wild flowers he would pick for me from
time to time were growing to quite a bouquet, when
he proposed an exchange with the farmer who was
driving us, and, giving him his horse, took the reins
himself.

I think Miriam and I will always remember that
ride. The laughter, the conversation, the songs
with the murmuring accompaniment of the wheels,
and a thousand incidents pleasant to remember
though foolish to speak of, will always form a
delightful tableau in our recollections. I have but one
disagreeable impression to remember in connection
with the trip, and that occurred at a farmhouse two miles
from here, where we stopped to get strawberries. I
preferred remaining in the carriage, to the trouble of
getting out; so all went in, Mr. Halsey dividing his
time equally between Miriam in the house and me in
the carriage, supplying me with violets and pensées
one moment, and the next showing me the most
tempting strawberries at the most provoking distance,
assuring me they were exquisite. The individual
to whom the carriage belonged, who had given
up the reins to Mr. Halsey, and who, no doubt, was
respectable enough for his class in his part of the
country, would allow no one to bring me my

strawberries, reserving the honor for himself. Presently
he appeared with a large saucer of them covered with
cream. I was naturally thankful, but would have preferred
his returning to the house after he had fulfilled
his mission. Instead, he had the audacity to express
his admiration of my personal appearance; without
a pause gave me a short sketch of his history,
informed me he was a widower, and very anxious to
marry again, and finally, - Lares and Penates of the
house of Morgan ap Kerrig, veil your affronted
brows! You will scarcely credit that the creature had
the insolence to say that - he would marry me to-morrow,
if he could, and think himself blessed; for the
jewel of the soul must be equal to the casket that
contained it! Yes! this brute of a man had the
unparalleled audacity to speak to me in such a way!
Just then, mother, remembering her invalid, came
to the gallery and asked how I was enjoying my
lunch. "I'm courting her!" cried the wretch. "Glad
she did not go in! Swear she's the prettiest girl I ever
saw!" At that moment Mr. Halsey came sauntering
out with a handful of violets for me, and, turning my
shoulder to the creature, I entered into a lively
discussion with him, and at last had the satisfaction of
seeing the wretch enter the house.

A drive through the straggling, half-deserted
town brought us here to Mrs. Greyson's, a large,
old-fashioned-looking house so close to the Tchefuncta
(I think that is the name of the river) that I could throw
a stone in it from my bed, almost.

Mrs. Greyson herself would require two or three
pages to do her justice. Fancy the daughter of Sir
Francis Searle, the widow of General Greyson, the
belle of New Orleans in her young days, settled down
into a hotel-keeper on a small scale, with stately ladies
and gentlemen looking down in solemn surprise
at her boarders from their rich portrait frames
on the parlor wall! Fallen greatness always gives
me an uncomfortable thrill. Yet here was the heiress
of these shadows on the wall, gay, talkative, bustling,
active; with a word of caution, or a word of advice
to all; polite, attentive, agreeable to her guests,
quarreling and exacting with her servants, grasping
and avaricious with all; singing a piece from "Norma"
in a voice, about the size of a thread No. 150, that
showed traces of former excellence; or cheapening
a bushel of corn meal with equal volubility. What a
character! Full of little secrets and mysteries.
"Now, my dear, I don't ask you to tell a story, you
know; but if the others ask you if you knew it, just
look surprised and say, 'Oh, dear me, when did
it happen?' 'Cause I promised not to tell; only you
are such favorites that I could not help it, and it
would not do to acknowledge it. And if any one
asks you if I put these candles in here, just say you
brought them with you, that's a love, because they
will be jealous, as I only allow them lamps." Eccentric
Mrs. Greyson! Many an hour's amusement did
she afford me.1

A ride of twenty-six miles bolt upright in the
carriage, over such bad roads, had almost used
me up; I retired to bed in a state of collapse, leaving
Miriam to entertain Mr. Halsey alone. After supper,
though, I managed to put on my prettiest dress, and
be carried down to the parlor where I rejoined the
rest. Several strange ladies were present, one of
whom has since afforded me a hearty laugh. She
was a horrid-looking woman, and ten minutes after
I entered, crossing the room with a most laughable look
of vulgarity attempting to ape righteous scorn, jerked
some articles of personal property from the table and
retired with the sweep of a small hurricane. I thought
her an eccentric female; but what was my amazement
yesterday to hear that she sought Mrs. Greyson,
told her it was impossible for her to stay among
so many elegantly dressed ladies, and that she
preferred keeping her room. Next day, she told her that
she was entirely too attentive to us, and rather than
be neglected in that way for other people, would
leave the house, which she did instantly.

There was a singular assembly of odd characters
in the parlor Saturday night, six of whom looked as
though they were but so many reflections of the same
individual in different glasses, and the seventh
differed from the rest only in playing exquisitely on
the banjo - "Too well to be a gentleman," I fear.
These were soldiers, come to "call" on us. Half an

hour after we arrived, a dozen of them took
possession of the bench on the bank of the river,
one with his banjo who played and sang delightfully.
Old Mrs. Greyson, who is rather eccentric, called,
"Ah, Mr. J-! Have you heard already of the arrival of the
young ladies? You never serenaded me!" The young
man naturally looked foolish; so she went out and
asked him to come around after dark and play for
the young ladies. So after a while he came, "bringing
six devils yet worse than himself," as the old
Scriptural phrase has it, all of whom sat on the same
side of the room, and looked at us steadily when they
thought we were not looking. All had the same voice,
the same bow, the same manner - that is to say
none at all of the latter; one introduced an agreeable
variety, saying as he bowed to each separately,
"Happy to make your acquaintance, ma'am." Mr.
Halsey just managed to keep his face straight, while
I longed for a Dickens to put them all together and
make one amusing picture out of the seven. I
troubled myself very little about them, preferring
Mr. Halsey's company, not knowing when we would
meet again. It would not have been quite fair to
leave him to himself after he had ridden such a
distance for us; so I generously left the seven to Miriam,
content with one, and rather think I had the best
of the bargain. The one with the banjo suggested
that we should sing for them before he played for us,
so Miriam played on the piano, and sang with me on
the guitar half a dozen songs, and then the other

commenced. I don't know when I have been more
amused. There was an odd, piney-woods dash about
him that was exceedingly diverting, and he went
through comic, sentimental, and original songs with
an air that showed his whole heart was in it. Judging
from the number of youth too timid to venture
in, who peeped at us from the windows, I should say
that young ladies are curiosities just now in
Madisonville.

Tuesday, April 14th.

Ah! another delightful
glimpse of society has been
offered to our charmed view. Such a treat has not
often fallen to our lot. Good Mrs. Greyson, in her
anxiety to make all around her happy, determined
we should have a dance. I should say "Miriam";
for Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy never indulge in such
amusements, and I can't; so it must have been for
Miriam alone. Such a crew! The two ladies above
mentioned and I almost laughed ourselves into
hysterics. Poor Miriam, with a tall, slender Texan who
looked as though he had chopped wood all his life,
moved through the dance like the lady in "Comus";
only, now and then a burst of laughter at the odd
mistakes threatened to overcome her dignity. We
who were fortunately exempt from the ordeal,
laughed unrestrainedly at the mêlée. One danced
entirely with his arms; his feet had very little to do
with the time. One hopped through with a most
dolorous expression of intense absorption in the
arduous task. Another never changed a benign smile

that had appeared on entering, but preserved it
unimpaired through every accident. One female,
apparently of the tender age of thirty, wore a yellow
muslin, with her hair combed rigidly à la chinoise,
and tightly fastened at the back of her head in a knot
whose circumference must have been fully equal to
that of a dollar. In addition to other charms, she
bore her neck and chin in a very peculiar manner, as
though she were looking over the fence, Mr. Christmas
remarked. Mr. Christmas had ridden all the way
from Ponchatoula to see us, and if it had not been for
him, Mr. Worthington, and Dr. Capdevielle, who
came in after a while, I think I should have expired,
and even Miriam would have given up in despair.
The Doctor was an old friend of Harry's, though we
never met him before.

Thursday, April 16th.

Mr. Halsey brought us
each a little tortoise-shell
ring he had made for us by his camp-fire, as a
keepsake, and of course we promised to wear them
for him, particularly as they make our hands look as
white as possible. Towards sunset, in spite of prayers
and entreaties from Miriam, who insisted that I was
too feeble to attempt it, I insisted on walking out to
the bench by the river to enjoy the cool breeze; and
was rather glad I had come, when soon after Dr.
Capdevielle made his appearance, with two beautiful
bouquets which he presented with his French bow
to us; and introducing his friend, Mr. Miltonberger,
entered into one of those lively discussions

No sooner had they left than, to our infinite
surprise, the immortal seven of Saturday night
walked in. Wonder what fun they find in coming?
I see none. For we rarely trouble ourselves about
their presence; there are but two I have addressed
as yet; one because I am forced to say yes or no to
his remarks, and the other because I like his banjo,
which he brought again, and feel obliged to talk
occasionally since he is so accommodating, and
affords me the greatest amusement with his comic
songs. I was about retiring unceremoniously about
twelve o'clock, completely worn out, when they finally
bethought themselves of saying good-night, and saved
me the necessity of being rude. Wonder if that is all
the fun they have? I should say it was rather dry. It is
mean to laugh at them, though; their obliging dispositions
should save them from our ridicule. Last evening Mr.
Halsey succeeded in procuring a large skiff, whereupon
four or five of them offered to row, and took us 'way
down the Tchefuncta through the most charming
scenery to a spot where Echo answered us in the
most remarkable way; her distinct utterance was really
charming. Not being aware of the secret, I thought the
first answer to the halloo was from pickets. Mr. Halsey
has a magnificent voice; and the echoes came back so full
and rich that soon we appointed him speaker by mutual
consent, and were more than repaid by the delightful sounds

that came from the woods. The last ray of the sun
on the smooth waters; the soldiers resting on their
oars while we tuned the guitar and sang in the still
evening, until twilight, slowly closing over, warned
us to return, forms another of those pictures
indescribable though never to be forgotten.

BONFOUCA, Saturday, April 18th.

When I paused on Thursday
to rest a few moments,
how little idea I had that the rest I was taking
would soon be required for another journey!

It was agreed among us,
with our fellow travelers,
Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, whom we met at Mrs. Greyson's,
endeavoring to reach the city like ourselves, that we
would wait there until we could receive our passports
from General Pemberton. When this journey was first
seriously contemplated, Miriam wrote to Colonel
Szymanski representing mother's state of health and
my unfortunate condition, the necessity of medical
advice for both, and the impossibility of remaining in
famishing Clinton, and asked him to apply to the
General for a pass to go to Brother. The Colonel sent
word through Eugene La Noue that we should obtain
it in a few days, and advised us to go by way of
Ponchatoula. Tired of delay, and hearing that we could
pass as readily on General Gardiner's order, we
obtained one and started off without waiting for the other.
The first news on arriving at Madisonville was that no one
should pass except on General Pemberton's order.

Pleasant intelligence for those who had come that
far without! The other two ladies were in the same
dilemma. They were told that they should have a
pass if they would wait. Waiting at the expense of
four dollars a day for each, - Mrs. Ivy with two
very sick babies, Mrs. Bull with all her property in
New Orleans at stake, Tiche with her broken foot,
mother with a powerless hand, and I with an injured
spine, - was anything but agreeable under the
circumstances; though nothing could be more pleasant,
apart from this sense of restriction, than our stay at
Madisonville. General Pemberton took his leisure
about the affair, which is not surprising, as our
Generals have more weighty matters than women's
passports to attend to. Still, pleased as we were with our
residence there, it was necessary to get on as soon as
possible. So as I rested from labors about one o'clock
on Thursday, Mrs. Bull came in to suggest a new
plan to mother. It was to leave immediately for a
plantation called Bonfouca, thirty miles off, where
schooners came twice a week, and where we would
be allowed to embark without a pass. Carriages that
had just brought a party of ladies from Mandeville
were waiting on the other side of the river, which
could take us off immediately, for there was not a
moment to lose.

Instantly we resolved to hazard the undertaking.

About three we got into the large scow to cross the
Tchefuncta, in a party numbering five ladies, four
children, and four servants. One of the devoted

pickets, after setting me carefully in the most
comfortable place, asked permission to accompany me
as far as the carriage; he was sure he could assist me
more carefully than the drivers. And without further
parley, he followed. Before we turned the point, Mr.
Worthington 1 . . .
the dim distance, rowing up the
stream in the direction of Madisonville. What if he
had perceived us, and was hastening after us, deeming
it his duty to arrest us for trying to get away without
General Pemberton's order? As the idea was
suggested, there was rather a nervous set of ladies on
board. The half-mile that we had to go before reaching
our landing-place was passed over in nervous
apprehension. At last the spot was reached. Mr.
Worthington had not appeared, and we reached terra
firma without being "nabbed," as we confidently
expected. The obliging picket put me into the carriage,
bade me a most friendly adieu, and returned
to the village, leaving us with every prospect of
getting off without serious difficulty, in spite of our
serious apprehensions.

With two little children
and Tiche with me, our
carriage started off some time before the others. Two
or three miles from our starting-point, I perceived
three gentlemen riding towards us, one of whom I
instantly recognized as Dr. Capdevielle. Instantly I
stopped the carriage to speak to him. His look of
astonishment when satisfied of my identity rather

amused me; but my amusement was changed to a
slight feeling of disappointment when he commenced
talking. Was it possible I was leaving Madison?
Oh, how distressed he was! He was promising himself
so much pleasure! And to leave so unexpectedly!
He had just come with his friends from - somewhere.
They had planned a surprise party at Mrs.
Greyson's for us that evening, and had been after
the supper they had procured - somewhere, as I
before observed, and were just now returning. And
now we were deserting them! He had invited Monsieur
Berger, Monsieur Pollock, Monsieur- Mais enfin des
Messieurs! he exclaimed with a comical emphasis
and smile that brought vivid recollections of the
other party before my eyes, by force of contrast,
I suppose. And was n't I sorry we had left!
We fairly condoled with each other. Twenty minutes
had elapsed before I had so far recovered from
the disappointment as to bethink myself of the
propriety of continuing my journey. And then with the
assurance of being mutually désolé, we parted with a
hearty good-bye, and he rode on to rejoin his companions,
while I went the way he had come.

Two miles beyond, I met three others of the six
gentlemen he had mentioned, riding in a little dogcart
which contained champagne baskets in which
the supper was evidently packed, each gentleman
elegantly dressed, holding between them a little
basket of bouquets that my prophetic soul told me
was intended for Miriam and me. I was not

personally acquainted with the gentlemen, or I should
have told them of the disappointment that awaited
them. It must have been a disappointment!

In the midst of profound reflections about fate,
vanity of human wishes and calculations, friendships
formed on the roadside in the journey through life
(or from Clinton), I raised my eyes to behold Lake
Ponchartrain, and to find myself in Mandeville, just
seven miles from the Tchefuncta. Looking at the
dreary expanse of water, which suggested loneliness
and desolation, first recalled my own situation to me.
Here I was in this straggling place, with Tiche, a
cripple like myself, and two little children under
my care, without an idea of where we were to go.
Any one as timid and dependent as I to be placed in
such a position as pioneer to such a tremendous
company would feel rather forlorn. But some step
had to be taken, so I consulted the driver as to where
we could obtain board, and followed his suggestion.
One house after the other we stopped at, and with
my veil down and my heart beating as though I were
soliciting charity, or some other unpleasant favor, I
tried to engage rooms for the company, without success.
At last we were directed to a Frenchman, who,
after the usual assurance of "nothing to eat" (which
we afterwards found to be only too true), consented
to receive us. "Taking possession" seemed to me
such a dreadful responsibility that for some time I
remained in the carriage, afraid to get out before the
others arrived. But there was still no sign of them;

so I gathered my children and Tiche, and prepared to
dismount with the Frenchman's assistance.

I have read descriptions of such houses and
people, but I have not often seen them. The man and
his wife were perfect specimens of the low Canadian,
speaking only French. No sooner had they discovered
that I was "blessée," as they supposed, than each
seized an arm and with overwhelming exclamations
of sympathy, halfway dragged me into the room, where
they thrust me into a chair. Their family seemed to
consist only of cats and dogs who seemed to agree
most harmoniously, and each of whom conceived the
liveliest affection for us. As we were leaving Mrs.
Greyson's, a stranger just from the city, brought to our
room a paper of ham, tongue, and biscuits for "the sick
young lady" (Heaven only knows how she heard of her),
saying she had just traveled the road herself, and knew
I would find nothing to eat; so she would insist on putting
this in our basket. It was done in a manner that put all
refusal out of the question; so it had to be accepted.
I was feeding little Jenny Ivy and Minna Bull on
this lunch for want of something else to do, when the
affection of the cats and dogs became overpowering.
Six of them jumped at us, licked Jenny's face, eat
Minna's ham, and what with sundry kicks and slaps
I had exercise enough to last a week, and was rapidly
losing all my strength, when the woman came to my
rescue and called her pets off just as the rest of the
party drove up to find me almost exhausted.

Such a bedroom! There was a narrow single bed
in which mother, Jenny, and I slept, a decrepit table on
which stood a diseased mirror, a broken lounge without
a bottom, and a pine armoir filled with - corn! In the centre
stood the chief ornament, a huge pile of dirt, near which
Miriam's mattress was placed, while the sail of a boat
flanked it in on the other side, arranged as a bed for
Tiche. The accommodations in the other bedroom
were far inferior to ours. Then the mosquitoes swarmed
like pandemonium on a spree, and there was but one
bar in the house, which the man declared should be only
for me. I would rather have been devoured by the insects
than enjoy comforts denied to the others; so I made up my
mind it should be the last time.

Our supper was rare. "Nothing like it was ever
seen in Paris," as McClellan would say. It consisted
of one egg apiece, with a small spoonful of rice. A
feast, you see! Price, one dollar each, besides the
dollar paid for the privilege of sleeping among dirt,
dogs, and fleas.

Sunday, April 19th.

Friday morning we arose
and prepared to resume
our journey for Bonfouca, twenty-three miles away.
The man walked in very unceremoniously to get
corn from the armoir as we got up, throwing open the
windows and performing sundry little offices usually
reserved for
femmes-de-chambre; but with that exception
everything went on very well. Breakfast being a
luxury not to be procured, we got into the carriages

before sunrise, and left this romantic abode of dogs
and contentment. Again our road lay through piney
woods, so much like that from Hammond to
Ponchatoula that involuntarily I found myself looking
through the window to see if Mr. Halsey was there.
It lacked only his presence to make the scene all in
all the same. But alas! this time the driver picked
me wild flowers, and brought us haws. Mr. Halsey,
in blissful ignorance of our departure, was many
and many a mile away. The drive was not half as
amusing. The horse would not suffer any one except
Miriam to drive, and at last refused to move until
the driver got down and ran along by the carriage.
Every time the poor boy attempted to occupy his
seat, the obstinate animal would come to a dead stop
and refuse to go until he dismounted again. I am
sure that he walked nineteen miles out of the
twenty-three, out of complaisance to the ungrateful
brute.

All equally fatigued and warm, we reached this
place about twelve o'clock. Mrs. Bull had arrived
before us; and as the carriage stopped, her girl Delia
came to the gate the personification of despair,
crying, "You can't get out, ladies. They say we can't
stop here; we must go right back." The panic which
ensued is indescribable. Go back when we were
almost at our journey's end, after all the money we
had spent, the fatigue we had undergone, to be
turned back all the way to Clinton, perhaps! "With
my sick babies!" cried Mrs. Ivy. "With my sick
child!" cried mother. "Never! You may turn me

out of your house, but we will die in the woods first!
To go back is to kill my daughter and these babies!"
This was to the overseer who came to the carriage.
"Madam, I have orders to allow no one to pass who
has not written permission. Lieutenant Worthington
sent the order two days ago; and I am liable to
imprisonment if I harbor those who have no passport,"
the man explained. "But we have General
Gardiner's order," I expostulated. "Then you shall
certainly pass; but these ladies cannot. I can't turn
you away, though; you shall all come in and stay
until something can be determined on."

This much granted was an unlooked-for blessing.
He showed us the way to a large unfurnished house,
one room of which contained a bed with one naked
mattress, which was to be our apartment. Mrs. Bull
sat down in a calm, dignified state of despair; little
Mrs. Ivy dissolved in tears; we all felt equally
disconsolate; the prospect of getting off was not so
pleasant when we thought we should be obliged to
leave them behind. Our common misfortunes had
endeared us to each other, strangers as we were
a week ago. So we all lamented together, a perfect
Jérémiade of despair. The overseer is very
tenderhearted; he condoled, comforted, and finally
determined that if there was any way of getting them
off, they should go. A glimpse of sunshine returned to
our lowering sky, and cheerfulness reigned once
more, to be violently dethroned some hours later.
Three of the Madisonville pickets were announced

approaching the house. Of course, they were coming
after us! Oh, that vile Mr. Worthington! We always
did hate him! There was such a sneaky look about
him. Hypocrite! we always felt we should hate him!
Oh, the wretch! "I won't go back!" cried mother.
"I shall not," said quiet Mrs. Bull. "He shall pay
my expenses if he insists on taking me back!"
exclaimed Mrs. Ivy. "Spent all my money! Mrs. Bull,
you have none to lend me, remember, and Mrs.
Morgan shan't! Oh, that Worthington! Let 's make
him pay for all!" We smothered our laughter to sit
trembling within as the pickets stepped on the gallery.
I believe we commenced praying. Just think!
Thus far, our journey has cost mother two hundred
and twenty dollars. It would cost the same to get
back to blessed Clinton, and fancy our spending that
sum to settle there again! Besides, we gave away all
our clothes to our suffering friends; and what would
we do there now?

After half an hour of painful suspense, we discovered
that it would have been as well to spare poor
Mr. Worthington; for the pickets were not after us,
but had come to escort Mrs. R-, a woman who
was taking the body of her son, who was killed at
Murfreesboro, to the city for interment. Poor
woman! she rode all this distance sitting on her child's
coffin. Her husband was one of those who with
B- stole that large sum of money from father
which came so near ruining him. She speaks of her
husband as of a departed saint. I dare say she believes

him innocent of the theft in spite of his public
confession. The grave has wiped out even the
disgrace of the penitentiary where he expiated his
offense. . . .When I told Tiche who the woman was,
she clasped her hands, saying, "The Lord is good!
Years and years master suffered while she grew rich,
and now her time comes! The Lord don't forget!" I
can't feel that way. It is well for the narrow-minded
to look for God's judgment on us for our sins; but
mine is a more liberal faith. God afflicted her for
some wise purpose; but if I thought it was to avenge
father, I should be afraid of her. As it is, I can be
sorry, oh, so sorry for her!

As usual I find myself taken care of at the expense
of the others. There are but two bars on the place;
one, the overseer said, should be for me, the other for
the children. Sheets were scarce, covers scarcer
still. Tired of being spoiled in this way, I insisted on
being allowed to sleep on a mattress on the floor,
after a vigorous skirmish with mother and Miriam,
in which I came off victorious. For a bar, I impressed
Miriam's grenadine dress, which she fastened to the
doorknob and let fall over me à la Victoria tester
arrangement. To my share fell a double blanket,
which, as Tiche had no cover, I unfolded, and as she
used the foot of my bed for a pillow, gave her the
other end of it, thus (tell it not in Yankeeland, for
it will never be credited) actually sleeping under the
same bedclothes with our black, shiny negro nurse!
We are grateful, though, even for these discomforts;

it might have been so much worse! Indeed, I fear
that our fellow travelers do not fare as well. Those
who have sheets have no bars; those who have blankets
have no sheets; and one woman who has recently
joined us has nothing except a mattress which is to
do the duty of all three. But then, we got bread!
Real, pure, wheat bread! And coffee! None of your
potato, burnt sugar, and parched corn abomination,
but the unadulterated berry! I can't enjoy it fully,
though; every mouthful is cloyed with the recollection
that Lilly and her children have none.

As usual, as Mrs. Greyson says, the flowers follow
us; yesterday I received three bouquets, and Miriam
got one too. In this out-of-the-way place such offerings
are unexpected; and these were doubly gratifying
coming from people one is not accustomed to
receiving them from. For instance, the first was
from the overseer, the second from a servant, and
the third from a poor boy for whom we have subscribed
to pay his passage to the city.

Wednesday, April 22d,
NEW ORLEANS.

Yesterday we arrived; I
thought we should never
get here. Monday we had almost given up in
despair, believing the schooner would never return.
But in the evening, when all were gathered in our
room discussing our hopes and fears, a sail was
perceived at the mouth of the bayou, whereupon every
one rushed out to see the boat land. I believe that I

have not mentioned that this Bonfouca is on a bayou
of the same name that runs within a few yards of this
house. It is an Indian name signifying Winding
River, which struck us as very appropriate when we
watched the schooner sailing now to the left, now to
the right, apparently through the green fields; for
the high grass hid the course of the stream so that
the faintest line was not perceptible, except just in
front of the house. All was now bustle and confusion,
packing, dressing, and writing last words to our
friends at home, until half-past eleven, when we
embarked.

This is my first experience of schooners, and I
don't care if I never behold another. The cabin where
Mr. Kennedy immediately carried me, was just the
size of my bed at home (in the days I had a home) and
just high enough to stand in. On each side of the
short ladder, there was a mattress two feet wide.
One of them Mrs. R- had possession of already,
the other was reserved for me. I gave the lower part
of mine to Minna and Jennie, who spent the rest of
the night fighting each other and kicking me.

Just before twelve we "weighed anchor" and I
went on deck to take a last look at Dixie with the
rest of the party. Every heart was full. Each left
brothers, sisters, husband, children, or dear friends
behind. We sang, "Farewell dear land," with a slight
quaver in our voices, looked at the beautiful starlight
shining on the last boundary of our glorious land, and,
fervently and silently praying, passed out of sight.

God bless you, all you dear ones we have left in
our beloved country! God bless and prosper you,
and grant you the victory in the name of Jesus
Christ.

I returned to my mattress, and this is the way
we spent the night.

Mrs. R-, rocking and moaning as she sat up in
bed, whined out her various ills with a minute
description of each, ceasing the recital only to talk of
her son's body which lay on deck. (Yesterday morning
she was sitting crying on his coffin while a strange
woman sat on its head eating her bread and cheese.)
Mrs. Bull, one of the most intelligent and refined
ladies I have yet met, who is perfectly devoted to
me, sat by me, laughing and talking, trying her best
to make every one comfortable and happy in her
unobtrusive way. Mother talked to Mrs. R- and
cried at the thought of leaving her children fighting
and suffering. The space between the two beds was
occupied by three Irishwomen and Mrs. Ivy's two
babies. The babies had commenced screaming as
they were brought into the pen, at which I was not
surprised. Having pitched their voices on the proper
key, they never ceased shrieking, kicking, crying,
throwing up, and going through the whole list of
baby performances. The nurses scolded with shrill
voices above the bedlam that had hushed even Mrs.
R-'s complaints; Jennie and Minna quarreled,
kicked, and cried; and as an aggravation to the
previous discomforts, a broad-shouldered, perspiring

Irishwoman sat just by my head, bracing herself
against my pillow in the most unpleasant style. I
endured it without flinching until about half-past
three, when the condensed odor of a dozen different
people and children became unendurable, and I
staggered up on deck where Miriam and Mrs. Ivy had
been wise enough to remain without venturing below.
They laid me on a bench in the stern, rolled me
up in shawls to keep off the heavy dew, and there I
remained until daylight with them, as wide awake
as ever.

At daylight there was a universal smoothing of
heads, and straightening of dresses, besides
arrangements made for the inspection of baggage.
Being unwilling for any Christian to see such a book as
this, I passed a piece of tape through the centre
leaves, and made Miriam tie it under her hoops. At
sunrise we were in sight of the houses at the lake
end. It seemed as though we would never reach
land.

I forgot to speak of our alarm as we got in the
lake. No sooner had we fairly left the bayou than the
sky suddenly became threatening. The captain
shook his head and spoke of a very ugly night for the
lake, which sent everybody's heart to their throats,
and alarmed us immeasurably. We got talking of
the sailor's superstition of crossing the water with a
corpse, until we persuaded ourselves that it was
more than probable we would founder in the coming
storm. But the severest storm we met was the one

in the cabin; and all night the only wind was a head
breeze, and the spicy gale from below.

When we at last entered the canal, I beheld the
animal now so long unseen, the Yankee. In their
dark blue uniforms, they stood around, but I thought
of the dear gray coats, and even the pickets of
Madisonville seemed nobler and greater men than
these. Immediately a guard was placed on board,
we whispering before he came, "Our dear Confederates,
God bless them."

We had agreed among ourselves that come
what would, we would preserve our dignity and
self-respect, and do anything rather than create a
scene among such people. It is well that we agreed.
So we whispered quietly among ourselves, exhorting
each other to pay no attention to the remarks the
Yankees made about us as we passed, and acting the
martyr to perfection, until we came to Hickock's
Landing. Here there was a group of twenty Yankees.
Two officers came up and asked us for papers;
we said we had none. In five minutes one came back,
and asked if we had taken the oath. No; we had
never taken any. He then took down our names.
Mother was alone in the coop. He asked if there was
not another. The schooner had fifteen passengers,
and we had given only fourteen names. Mother then
came up and gave her name, going back soon
after.

While one went after our passes, others came to
examine our baggage. I could not but smile as an

unfortunate young man got on his knees before our
trunk and respectfully handled our dirty petticoats
and stockings. "You have gone through it before,"
he said. "of course, the Confederates searched
it." - "Indeed, they did not touch it!" I exclaimed.
"They never think of doing such work." - "Miss,
it is more mortifying to me than it can be to you," he
answered. And I saw he was actually blushing. He
did his work as delicately as possible, and when he
returned the keys, asked if we had letters. I opened
my box and put them into his hand. One came near
getting me into serious trouble. It was sent by some
one I never saw, with the assurance that it contained
nothing objectionable. I gave it sealed to the man,
who opened it, when it proved to be rather disagreeable,
I judged from his language. He told me his captain
must see it before he could let me have it, and
carried it off. Presently he came back and told
me it could not be returned. I told him to burn it
then, as I neither knew the writer, the contents, nor
those it was written to. "I may save you some difficulty
if I destroy it," he remarked, whereupon he tore
it up and flung it into the canal. I have since found
I had cause to be grateful; for just after came an
officer to see the young lady who brought that
letter. I showed the pieces in the water, saying the
young man had torn it up, which seemed to annoy
him; it was to be sent to headquarters, he said.

Then came a bundle of papers on board carried
by another, who standing in front of us, cried in a

startling way, "Sarah Morgan!" - "Here" (very
quietly). - "Stand up!" - "I cannot" (firmly). -
"Why not?" - "Unable" (decisively). After this
brief dialogue, he went on with the others until all
were standing except myself, when he delivered to
each a strip of paper that informed the people that
Miss, or Mrs. So-and-So had taken and subscribed
the oath as Citizen of the United States. I thought
that was all, and rejoiced at our escape. But after
another pause he uncovered his head and told us to
hold up our right hands. Half-crying, I covered my
face with mine and prayed breathlessly for the boys
and the Confederacy, so that I heard not a word he
was saying until the question, "So help you God?"
struck my ear. I shuddered and prayed harder.
There came an awful pause in which not a lip was
moved. Each felt as though in a nightmare, until,
throwing down his blank book, the officer pronounced
it "All right!" Strange to say, I experienced no
change. I prayed as hard as ever for the boys
and our country, and felt no nasty or disagreeable
feeling which would have announced the process
of turning Yankee.

Then it was that mother commenced. He turned
to the mouth of the diminutive cave, and asked if
she was ready to take the oath. "I suppose I have
to, since I belong to you," she replied. "No, madam,
you are not obliged; we force no one. Can you state
your objections?" "Yes, I have three sons fighting
against you, and you have robbed me, beggard me!"

she exclaimed, launching into a speech in which
Heaven knows what she did not say; there was little
she left out, from her despoiled house to her sore
hand, both of which she attributed to the at first
amiable man, who was rapidly losing all patience.
Faint with hunger, dizzy with sleeplessness, she had
wrought on her own feelings until her nerves were
beyond control. She was determined to carry it out,
and crying and sobbing went through with it.

I neither spoke nor moved. . . . The officer walked
off angrily and sent for a guard to have mother taken
before General Bowens. Once through her speech,
mother yielded to the entreaties of the ladies and
professed herself ready to take the oath, since she was
obliged to. "Madam, I did not invite you to come,"
said the polite officer, who refused to administer the
oath; and putting several soldiers on board, ordered
them to keep all on board until one could report to
General Bowens. Mother retired to the cabin, while
we still kept our seats above.

Oh, that monotonous, never-ending canal! We
thought it would go on forever. At last we came to
the basin in the centre of the city. Here was a position
for ladies! Sitting like Irish emigrants on their
earthly possessions, and coming in a schooner to
New Orleans, which a year ago would have filled
us with horror. Again the landing was reached,
and again we were boarded by officers. I don't
know how they knew of the difficulty mother had
made, but they certainly did, and ordered that

Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy, after a long delay and
many representations, at last prepared to leave. I
was sitting in the spot I had occupied ever since
before daylight, with nothing to support me above my
hips. All of us had fasted since an early and light
supper the night before; none had slept. I was growing
so weak from these three causes, and the burning
sun (for it was now twelve), that I could hardly
speak when they came to tell me good-bye. Alarmed
at my appearance, Mrs. Bull entreated the officer to
allow me to leave the boat. No, he said; it was
impossible; we should remain on board until General
Bowens could come. We may get an answer in half
an hour, or we may not get it for some time; and
there we must stay until it came. "But this young
lady has been ill for months; she is perfectly
exhausted, and will faint if she is not removed
immediately," pleaded Mrs. Bull. She did not know
my powers of control. Faint! I would have expired
silently first! The officer said those were his orders;
I could not leave. "Do you think you are performing
your duty as a gentleman and a Christian? This
young lady has obtained her pass already, without
the slightest difficulty," she persisted. Still he said
he was acting according to orders. Not to be baffled,
she begged that she might be allowed to take me to
Brother, telling him who he was, while our trunk,
Miriam, Tiche, and mother would remain as hostages.

Then he gave a reluctant consent on condition
I left my number, so he could go after me when
I was wanted.

I don't know what good came of the consent, for
there I was to remain until something, I don't know
what, happened. I only know I was growing deathly
sick and faint, and could hardly hold myself up,
when some time after Mrs. Bull and Mrs. Ivy left
(under the impression that I was to go immediately),
a gentleman in citizen's clothes came to me and said
he had obtained permission for me to wait General
Bowen's orders in his office, a few steps from the
schooner. Thankful for so much, I accepted his arm
and slowly dragged myself along to the first shelter
I had seen that day. By some wonderful condescension
Miriam and mother were allowed to follow; and
with the guard at the door, we waited there for half
an hour more until our sentence could be received.

Miriam had written a line to Brother as soon as
possible, telling him of the situation, and while we
were waiting in this office, I half dead with fatigue,
a carriage dashed up to the door, and out of it stepped
Brother. I felt that all our troubles were over then.
He looked so glad to see us that it seemed a pity to
tell the disagreeable story that yet remained to be
told. But once heard, he made all go right in a few
moments. He got into the carriage with mother, to
take her to General Bowens, while we got into
another to come to the house. I saw no more of the
guard or officer.

When we arrived, Sister was too astonished to
speak. She did not believe we would come when it was
ordered that all should take the oath on entering. If
we had only realized it I don't think we would, either.

In half an hour mother got back. Supported by
Brother's presence, she had managed to hold up her
right hand and say "Yes" to the oath - which was
more than any of us had done.

Brother found and officer at the door who had been
ordered (before he took mother to the General) to
arrest her and confine her in the Custom-House. I
suppose Miriam and I would have shared the
imprisonment with her. But Brother has a way of
making all these things right; and the man was sent back
without accomplishing his mission.

Sunday, April 26th.

I am getting well! Bless
the Lord, O my soul!
Life, health, and happiness dawn on my trembling
view again! . . . Dr. Stone came to see me a few
hours after I arrived; two days after, he called again;
this morning I walked out to meet him when he was
announced, and he asked me how my sister was.
When I told him I was myself, "God bless my soul!
You don't say so!" he exclaimed, evidently astonished
at the resurrection.

Thursday, April 30th.

Was not the recollection
of this day bitter enough
to me already? I did not think it could be more so.

Yet behold me crying as I have not cried for many
and many a day. Not for Harry; I dare not cry for
him. I feel a deathlike quiet when I think of him;
a fear that even a deep-drawn breath would wake
him in his grave. And as dearly as I love you, O Hal,
I don't want you in this dreary world again. . . .

Talk of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes!
Talk of Louis XIV! Of - pshaw! my head is in such
a whirl that history gets all mixed up, and all parallels
seem weak and moderate in comparison to this
infamous outrage. To-day, thousands of families,
from the most respectable down to the least, all who
have had the firmness to register themselves enemies
to the United States, are ordered to leave the city
before the fifteenth of May. Think of the thousands,
perfectly destitute, who can hardly afford to buy
their daily bread even here, sent to the Confederacy,
where it is neither to be earned nor bought , without
money, friends, or a home. Hundreds have comfortable
homes here, which will be confiscated to enrich
those who drive them out. "It is an ill wind that
blows no one good." Such dismal faces as one meets
everywhere! Each looks heartbroken. Homeless,
friendless, beggars, is written in every eye. Brother's
face is too unhappy to make it pleasant to look at
him. True, he is safe; but hundreds of his friends are
going forth destitute, leaving happy homes behind,
not knowing where the crust of bread for famishing
children is to come from to-morrow. He went to
General Bowens and asked if it were possible that

women and children were included in the order. Yes,
he said they should all go, and go in the Confederacy.
They should not be allowed to go elsewhere.
Penned up like sheep to starve! That's the idea!
With the addition of forty thousand mouths to feed,
they think they can invoke famine to their aid, seeing
that their negro brothers don't help them much
in the task of subjugating us.

Don't care who knows I smuggled in a dozen
letters! Wish I had had more!

June 9th, Tuesday.

My dear Brother, who is
always seeking to make
somebody happy, arranged a dinner-party at the
lake for us Saturday. There was quite a number of
us, as, besides ourselves and the five children, we
had Mrs. Price and her children, Mrs. Bull, and three
nurses. . . . There are no Southern young men left in
town, and those who remain would hardly be received
with civility by Miriam and myself. Of the Yankees,
Brother has so much consideration for us that he
has never invited one to his house since we have been
here, though he has many friends among them who
visited here before our arrival. Such delicacy of feeling
we fully appreciate, knowing how very few men
of such a hospitable nature would be capable of such
a sacrifice. Thinking we need company, Brother
frequently invites what he calls "a safe old Secessionist"
(an old bachelor of fifty-three who was wounded at
Shiloh) to dine with us; thinking it a fair compromise

between the stay-at-home youth and the Yankees,
neither of whom this extremely young man could be
confounded with.

Sunday, June 14th.

The excitement about Port
Hudson and
Vicksburg is intense. When I heard on Friday that
the last attack was being made on the former place,
I took to my prayers with a delirium of fervor. If I was
a man, if I had the blessed privilege of fighting, I would
be on the breastworks, or perchance on the water
batteries under Colonel Steadman's command. But
as I was unfortunately born a woman, I stay home
and pray with heart and soul. That is all I can do;
but I do it with a will. In my excitement, I was wishing
that I was a Catholic, that I might make a vow
for the preservation of Port Hudson, when a brilliant
idea struck me. It was this; though vows are
peculiar to Catholics, mosquitoes are common to all
sects. From that arose this heroic scheme: I said,
"Hear me, Miriam, thou who knowest I have slept
undisturbed but three nights out of seventeen, four
hours out of each of the other fourteen having been
spent in destroying my insatiable foe. Thou seest
that nightly vigils are torturing me pale and weak,
thou knowest what unspeakable affection I have for
the youth yclept by the ancients Morpheus. Yet
listen to my vow; If Port Hudson holds out, if our
dear people are victorious, I offer up myself on the
altar of my country to mosquitoes, and never again
will I murmur at their depredations and voracity."

Talk of pilgrimages, and the ordinary vow of wearing
only the Virgin's colors (the most becoming in the
world); there never was one of greater heroism or more
sublime self-sacrifice than this. And as if to prove my
sincerity, they have been worse than ever these last
two nights. But as yet I have not murmured; for
the Yankees, who swore to enter Port Hudson before
last Monday night, have not yet fulfilled their promise,
and we hold it still. Vivent vows and mosquitoes,
and forever may our flag wave over the entrenchments!
We will conquer yet, with God's blessing!

A week or ten days ago came a letter from Lydia,
who is placed within the lines by this recent raid.
She writes that the sugar-house and quarters have
been seized for Yankee hospitals, that they have
been robbed of their clothing, and that they are in
pursuit of the General, who I pray Heaven may
escape them. She wrote for clothing, provisions, and
a servant, and after we had procured them all, and
were ready to send them, we discovered that they
would not be allowed to pass; so I hardly know what
the poor child will do unless she accepts Brother's
invitation to come down to him immediately, if she
thinks it right.

June 17th.

I must write something
somewhere, I don't care if
dinner is ready, and Brother's "safe old Secesh"
downstairs! Lydia has another boy! Letter has just
come, and I am demented about my new godchild!
There now! feel better!

One more word - it shall be called "Howell."
Dear, blessed little baby! how I shall love it!

Sunday, June 21st.

How about that oath of
allegiance? is what I
frequently ask myself, and always an uneasy qualm
of conscience troubles me. Guilty or not guilty of
perjury? According to the law of God in the abstract,
and of nations, Yes; according to my conscience, Jeff
Davis, and the peculiar position I was placed in, No.
Which is it? Had I had any idea that such a pledge
would be exacted, would I have been willing to come?
Never! The thought would have horrified me. The
reality was never placed before me until we reached
Bonfouca. There I was terrified at the prospect; but
seeing how impossible it would be to go back, I
placed all my hopes in some miracle that was to
intervene to prevent such a crime, and confidently
believed my ill health or something else would save
me, while all the rest of the party declared they would
think it nothing, and take forty oaths a day, if
necessary. A forced oath, all men agree, is not binding.
The Yankees lay particular stress on this being
voluntary, and insist that no one is solicited to take it
except of their own free will. Yet look at the scene
that followed, when mother showed herself unwilling!
Think of being ordered to the Custom-House as a
prisoner for saying she supposed she would have
to! That's liberty! that is free will! It is entirely
optional; you have only to take it quietly or go to jail.

That is freedom enough certainly! There was not
even that choice left to me. I told the officer who
took down my name that I was unwilling to take
the oath, and asked if there was no escaping it.
"None whatever" was his reply. "You have it to do,
and there is no getting out of it." His rude tone
frightened me into half-crying; but for all that, as he
said, I had it to do. If perjury it is, which will God
punish: me, who was unwilling to commit the crime,
or the man who forced me to it?

Friday, June 26th.

O praise the Lord, O my
soul! Here is good news
enough to make me happy for a month! Brother is
so good about that! Every time he hears good news
on our side, he tells it just as though it was on his
side, instead of on ours; while all bad news for us he
carefully avoids mentioning, unless we question him.
So to-day he brought in a budget for us.

Lee has crossed the Potomac on his way to
Washington with one hundred and sixty thousand men.
Gibbes and George are with him. Magruder is
marching on Fort Jackson, to attack it in the rear.
One or two of our English ironclads are reported at
the mouth of the river, and Farragut has gone down
to capture them. O Jimmy! Jimmy! suppose he
should be on one of them? We don't know the name
of his ship, and it makes us so anxious for him,
during these months that we have heard nothing of his
whereabouts.

It is so delightful to see these frightened Yankees!
One has only to walk downtown to be satisfied of the
alarm that reigns. Yesterday came the tidings of the
capture of Brashere City by our troops, and that a
brigade was fifteen miles above here, coming down
to the city. Men congregated at corners whispering
cautiously. These were evidently Confederates who
had taken the oath. Solitary Yankees straggled
along with the most lugubrious faces, troubling no
one. We walked down to Blineau's with Mrs. Price,
and over our ice-cream she introduced her husband,
who is a true blue Union man, though she, like
ourselves, is a rank Rebel. Mr. Price, on the eve of
making an immense fortune, was perfectly disconsolate
at the news. Every one was to be ruined; starvation
would follow if the Confederates entered; there was
never a more dismal, unhappy creature. Enchanted
at the news, I naturally asked if it were reliable.
"Perfectly! Why to prove how true, standing at the
door of this salon five minutes ago, I saw two young
ladies pass with Confederate flags, which they
flirted in the face of some Federal officers,
unrebuked!" Verily, thought I, something is about to
happen! Two days ago the girls who were "unrebuked"
this evening would have found themselves in jail
instead.

July 10th.

Shall I cry, faint,
scream, or go off in hysterics?
Tell me which, quickly; for to doubt this news is fine
and imprisonment, and if I really believe it I would

certainly give way to my feelings and commit some
vagaries of the kind. My resolution is formed! I will
do neither; I won't gratify the Yankees so much. I
have been banging at the piano until my fingers are
weary, and singing "The Secret through Life to be
Happy" until my voice is cracked; I'll stand on my
head if necessary, to prove my indifference; but I'll
never believe this is true until it is confirmed by
stronger authority.

Day before yesterday came tidings that Vicksburg
had fallen on the 4th inst. The "Era" poured out
extras, and sundry little popguns fizzled out salutes.
All who doubted the truth of the report and were
brave enough to say so were fined or imprisoned;
it has become a penal offense to doubt what
the "Era" says; so quite a number of arrests were
made. This morning it was followed up by the
announcement of the capture of Port Hudson. The
guns are pealing for true, and the Yankees at
headquarters may be seen skipping like lambs, for
very joy. And I still disbelieve! Skeptic! The first thing
I know that "Era" man will be coming here to
convert me! But I don't, can't, won't believe it! If it
is true, - but I find consolation in this faith: it is
either true, or not true, - if it is true, it is all for the
best, and if it is not true, it is better still. Whichever
it is, is for some wise purpose; so it does not matter,
so we wait, pray, and believe.

I don't believe it? What
am I crying about then?
It seems so hard! How the mighty are fallen! Port
Hudson gone! Brother believes it. That is enough
for me. God bless him! I cry hourly. He is so good
and considerate. He told me, "Name your friends,
and what can be done for them shall be attended to.
The prisoners will be sent here. Maybe I cannot do
much; but food and clothing you shall have in abundance
for them when they arrive." God bless him for
his kindness!

O dear, noble men! I am afraid to meet them; I
should do something foolish; best take my cry out in
private now. May the Lord look down in pity on us!
Port Hudson does not matter so much; but these
brave, noble creatures! The "Era" says they had
devoured their last mule before they surrendered.

Saturday, July 10th, 10 o'clock P.M.

I preach patience; but
how about practice? I am
exasperated! there is the simple fact. And is it not
enough? What a scene I have just witnessed! A
motley crew of thousands of low people of all colors
parading the streets with flags, torches, music, and
all other accompaniments, shouting, screaming,
exulting over the fall of Port Hudson and Vicksburg.
The "Era" will call it an enthusiastic demonstration
of the loyal citizens of the city; we who saw it from
upper balconies know of what rank these "citizens"
were. We saw crowds of soldiers mixed up with the

lowest rabble in the town, workingmen in dirty clothes,
newsboys, ragged children, negroes, and even
women walking in the procession, while swarms of
negroes and low white women elbowed each other in
a dense mass on the pavement. To see such
creatures exulting over our misfortune was enough to
make one scream with rage. One of their dozen
transparencies was inscribed with "A dead Confederacy."
Fools! The flames are smouldering! They will burst
out presently and consume you! More than half,
much more, were negroes. As they passed by here they
raised a yell of "Down with the rebels!" that made
us gnash our teeth in silence. The Devil possessed
me. "O Miriam, help me pray the dear Lord that
their flag may burn!" I whispered as the torches
danced around it. And we did pray earnestly - so
earnestly that Miriam's eyes were tightly screwed
up; but it must have been a wicked prayer, for it
was not answered.

Dr. S- has out a magnificent display of black
cotton grammatically inscribed with "Port Hudson
and Vicksburg is ours," garnished with a luminous
row of tapers, and, drunk on two bits' worth of lager
beer, he has been shrieking out all Union songs he
can think of with his horrid children until my
tympanum is perfectly cracked. Miriam wants to offer
him an extra bottle of lager for the two places of
which he claims the monopoly. He would sell his
creed for less. Miriam is dying to ask him what he
has done with the Confederate uniform he sported

before the Yankees came. His son says they are all
Union men over there, and will "lemonate" (illuminate)
to-night. A starving seamstress opposite has
stuck six tallow candles in her window; better put
them in her stomach!

And I won't believe Vicksburg has surrendered!
Port Hudson I am sure has fallen. Alas, for all hopes
of serving the brave creatures! the rumor is that they
have been released on parole. Happily for them; but
if it must go, what a blessed privilege it would have
been to aid or comfort them!

Wednesday, July 15th.

It is but too true; both
have fallen. All Port Hudson
privates have been paroled, and the officers sent
here for exchange. Aye! Aye! I know some privates
I would rather see than the officers! As yet,
only ten that we know have arrived. All are
confined in the Custom-House. Last evening crowds
surrounded the place. We did something dreadful,
Ada Peirce, Miriam, and I. We went down to the
confectionery; and unable to resist the temptation,
made a détour by the Custom-House in hope of
seeing one of our poor dear half-starved mule and rat
fed defenders. The crowd had passed away then; but
what was our horror when we emerged from the river
side of the building and turned into Canal, to find the
whole front of the pavement lined with Yankees!
Our folly struck us so forcibly that we were almost
paralyzed with fear. However, that did not prevent

us from endeavoring to hurry past, though I felt as
though walking in a nightmare. Ada was brave
enough to look up at a window where several of our
prisoners were standing, and kept urging us to do
likewise. "Look! He knows you, Sarah! He has
called another to see you! They both recognize you!
Oh, look, please, and tell me who they are! They are
watching you still!" she would exclaim. But if my
own dear brother stood there, I could not have
raised my eyes; we only hurried on faster, with a
hundred Yankees eyes foxed on our flying steps.

My friend Colonel Steadman was one of the
commissioners for arranging the terms of the
capitulation, I see. He has not yet arrived.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dreadful news has come of the defeat of Lee at
Gettysburg. Think I believe it all? He may have
been defeated; but no one of these reports of total
overthrow and rout do I credit. Yankees jubilant,
Southerners dismal. Brother, with principles on one
side and brothers on the other, is correspondingly
distracted.

Saturday, July 18th.

It may be wrong; I feel
very contrite; but still I
cannot help thinking it is an error on the right side.
It began by Miriam sending Mr. Conn a box of
cigars when she was on Canal the other day, with a
note saying we would be delighted to assist him in
any way. Poor creature! He wrote an answer which
breathed desolation and humility, under his present

situation, in every line. The cigars, an unexpected
kindness, had touched a tender cord evidently. He
said he had no friends, and would be grateful for our
assistance.

But before his answer arrived, yesterday morning
I took it into my head that Colonel Steadman was
also at the Custom-House, though his arrival had not
been announced, the Yankees declining to publish
any more names to avoid the excitement that follows.
So Miriam and I prepared a lunch of chicken,
soup, wine, preserves, sardines, and cakes, to send
to him. And, fool-like, I sent a note with it. It only
contained the same offer of assistance; and I would
not object to the town crier's reading it; but it upset
Brother's ideas of decorum completely. He said
nothing to Miriam's, because that was first offense;
but yesterday he met Edmond, who was carrying
the basket, and he could not stand the sight of
another note. I wish he had read it! But he said he
would not assume such a right. So he came home
very much annoyed, and spoke to Miriam about it.
Fortunately for my peace of mind, I was swimming
in the bathtub in blissful unconsciousness, else I
should have drowned myself. He said, "I want you
both to understand that you shall have everything
you want for the prisoners. Subscribe any sum of
money, purchase any quantity of clothing, send all
the food you please, but, for God's sake, don't write
to them! In such a place every man knows the other
has received a letter, and none know what it contains.

I cannot have my sisters' names in everybody's
mouth. Never do it again!" All as kind and
as considerate for us as ever, and a necessary caution;
I love him the better for it; but I was dismayed
for having rendered the reproof necessary. For three
hours I made the most hideous faces at myself and
groaned aloud over Brother's displeasure. He is so
good that I would rather bite my tongue off than
give him a moment's pain. Just now I went to him,
unable to keep silence any longer, and told him how
distressed I was to have displeased him about that
note. "Don't think any more about it, only don't
do it again, dear," was his answer. I was so grateful
to him for his gentleness that I was almost hurried
into a story. I began, "It is the first time -" when
I caught myself and said boldly, "No, it is not.
Colonel Steadman has written to me before, and I
have replied. But I promise to you it shall not occur
again if I can avoid it." He was satisfied with the
acknowledgment, and I was more than gratified
with his kindness. Yet the error must have been on
the right side!

Colonel Steadman wrote back his thanks by
Edmond, with heartfelt gratitude for finding such
friends in his adversity, and touching acknowledgments
of the acceptable nature of the lunch. His
brother and Colonel Lock were wounded, though
recovering, and he was anxious to know if I had yet
recovered. And that was all, except that he hoped
we would come to see him, and his thanks to Brother

for his kind message. Brother had sent him word by
one of the prisoners that though he was not acquainted
with him, yet as his sisters' friend he would be happy
to assist him if he needed money or clothing.
There was no harm in either note, and though
I would not do it again, I am almost glad I let him
know he still had friends before Brother asked me
not to write.

And as yet we can't see them. A man was
bayoneted yesterday for waving to them, even. It only
makes us the more eager to see them. We did see
some. Walking on Rampart Street with the Peirces
yesterday, in front of a splendid private house, we
saw sentinels stationed. Upon inquiry we learned
that General Gardiner and a dozen others were
confined there. Ada and Miriam went wild. If it had
not been for dignified Marie, and that model of
propriety, Sarah, there is no knowing but what they
would have carried the house by storm. We got
them by without seeing a gray coat, when they
vowed to pass back, declaring that the street was not
respectable on the block above. We had to follow.
So! there they all stood on the balcony above. We
thought we recognized General Gardiner, Major
Wilson, Major Spratley, and Mr. Dupré. Miriam
was sure she did; but even when I put on a bold face,
and tried to look, something kept me from seeing;
so I had all the appearance of staring, without
deriving the slightest benefit from it. Wonder what
makes me such a fool?

Mr. Conn writes that Captain Bradford is
wounded, but does not say whether he is here.

Thursday, July 23d.

It is bad policy to keep us from seeing the prisoners;
it just sets us wild about them. Put a creature
you don't care for in the least, in a situation that
commands sympathy, and nine out of ten girls will
fall desperately in love. Here are brave, self-sacrificing,
noble men who have fought heroically for us,
and have been forced to surrender by unpropitious
fate, confined in a city peopled by their friends and
kindred, and as totally isolated from them as though
they inhabited the Dry Tortugas! Ladies are naturally
hero-worshipers. We are dying to show these
unfortunates that we are as proud of their bravery
as though it had led to victory instead of defeat.
Banks wills that they remain in privacy. Consequently
our vivid imaginations are constantly occupied
in depicting their sufferings, privations, heroism,
and manifold virtues, until they have almost
become as demigods to us. Even horrid little
Captain C- has a share of my sympathy in his
misfortune! Fancy what must be my feelings where
those I consider as gentlemen are concerned! It is
all I can do to avoid a most tender compassion for a
very few select ones. Miriam and I are looked on
with envy by other young ladies because some
twenty or thirty of our acquaintance have already
arrived. To know a Port Hudson defender is considered

as the greatest distinction one need desire.
If they would only let us see the prisoners once to
sympathize with, and offer to assist them, we would
never care to call on them again until they are liberated.
But this is aggravating. Of what benefit is it
to send them lunch after lunch, when they seldom
receive it? Colonel Steadman and six others, I am
sure, did not receive theirs on Sunday. We sent with
the baskets a number of cravats and some handkerchiefs
I had embroidered for the Colonel.

Brother should forbid those gentlemen writing, too.
Already a dozen notes have been received from them,
and what can we do? We can't tell them not to. Miriam
received a letter from Major Spratley this morning,
raving about the kindness of the ladies of New Orleans,
full of hope of future successes, and vows to help deliver
the noble ladies from the hands of their oppressors, etc.
It is a wonder that such a patriotic effusion could be
smuggled out. He kindly assures us that not only those of
our acquaintance there, but all their brother officers,
would be more than happy to see us in their prison.
Position of affairs rather reversed since we last met!

BOOK V

NEW ORLEANS, August, 1863.
Friday, 14th.

DOOMED to be bored!
To-night Miriam drags me
to a soirée musicale, and in the midst of my toilet, I
sit down with bare shoulders to scratch a dozen lines
in my new treasure which has been by me for three
days, untouched. I don't know what tempts me to
do it except perversity; for I have nothing to say.

I was in hopes that I would never have occasion to
refer to the disagreeable subject that occupied the last
pages of my old journal, but the hope proves
fallacious, and wherever I turn, the same subject is
renewed. So there is no longer any reason in waiting
until all mention can be avoided. Yesterday a little,
sly, snaky creature asked me if I knew "the Hero of
Port Hudson." "Yes," I said briefly. "Unmistakable!
I see it in your face!" she remarked. "See
what?" "That you betray yourself. Do you know
that every one believes that you are engaged to
him?" In surprise I said no; such a thing had never
been mentioned before me until then. "Well! they
say so, and add, too, that you are to be married as
soon as the war is over." " 'They' are paying me an
undeserved compliment," I returned. Where could
such a report have originated? Not certainly from
him, and not, most assuredly, from me. Where does

Dame rumor spring from? He is a stranger here, and
I have never mentioned his name except to the Peirces,
who would no more report such a thing than I would
myself. I won't mind it if it does not reach his ears; but
what assurance have I that it will not? That would be
unpleasant! Why can't "they say" let everybody settle
their own affairs?

Here comes Miriam after me! What a bore! What a
bore! And she looks as though it was a pleasure to go
out! How I hate it!

Glancing up the page, the date strikes my eye. What
tempted me to begin it Friday? My dear Ada would
shiver and declare the blank pages were reserved for
some very painful, awful, uncomfortable record, or that
"something" would happen before the end of it. Nothing
very exciting can happen, except the restoration of
peace; and to bring that about, I would make a vow to
write only on Fridays.

Sunday, 16th.

Coming out of church this
morning with Miriam, a
young lady ran up with an important air, as though
about to create a sensation. "I have a message
for you both," she said, fixing her eyes on mine
as though she sought something in them. "I visit
the prisoners frequently, you know, and day before
yesterday Captain Steadman requested me to beg
you to call, that he will not take a refusal, but entreated
you to come, if it were only once." The fates must be
against me; I had almost forgotten his existence,

and having received the same message frequently
from another, I thoughtlessly said, "You mean Colonel,
do you not?" Fortunately Miriam asked the same
question at the instant that I was beginning to believe I
had done something very foolish. The lady looked at me
with her calm, scrutinizing, disagreeable smile - a smile
that had all the unpleasant insinuations eyes and lips can
convey, a smile that looked like "I have your secret -
you can't deceive me" - and said with her piercing gaze,
"No, not the Colonel. He was very ill that day (did you
know it?) and could not see us. This was really the
Captain." "He is very kind," I stammered, and suggested
to Miriam that we had better pass on. The lady was still
eyeing me inquisitively. Decidedly, this is unpleasant to
have the reputation of being engaged to a man that every
girl is crazy to win! If one only cared for him, it would
not be so unpleasant; but under the circumstances, - ah ça!
why don't they make him over to the young lady
whose father openly avows he would be charmed to
have him for a son-in-law? This report has cost me
more than one impertinent stare. The young ladies think
it a very enviable position. Let some of them usurp it,
then!

So the young lady, not having finished her
examination, proposed to accompany us part of the
way. As a recompense, we were regaled with charming
little anecdotes about herself, and her visits. How she
had sent a delightful little custard to the Colonel

(here was a side glance at my demure face) and had
carried an autographic album in her last visit, and had
insisted on their inscribing their names, and writing a verse
or so. "How interesting!" was my mental comment. "Can
a man respect a woman who thrusts him her album,
begging for a compliment the first time they meet? What
fools they must think us, if they take such as these for
specimens of the genus!"

Did we know Captain Lanier? Know him, no! but
how vividly his face comes before me when I look back
to that grand smash-up at Port Hudson, when his face
was the last I saw before being thrown, and the first I
recognized when I roused myself from my stupor and
found myself in the arms of the young Alabamian. At the
sound of his name, I fairly saw the last ray of sunset
flashing over his handsome face, as I saw it then. No, I
did not know him. He had spoken to me, begging to be
allowed to hold me, and I had answered, entreating him
not to touch me, and that was all I knew of him; but she
did not wait for the reply. She hurried on to say that she
had sent him a bouquet, with a piece of poetry, and that
he had been heard to exclaim, "How beautiful!" on reading
it. "And do you know," she continued, with an air that was
meant to be charmingly naïf, but which was not very
successful, as naïveté at twenty-nine is rather flat, "I am so
much afraid he thinks it original! I forgot to put quotation
marks, and it would be so funny in him to make the

mistake! For you know I have not much of the -
of that sort of thing about me - I am not a poet -
poetess, author, you know." Said Miriam in her
blandest tone, without a touch of sarcasm in her
voice, "Oh, if he has ever seen you, the mistake is
natural!" If I had spoken, my voice would have
carried a sting in it. So I waited until I could calmly
say, "You know him well, of course." "No, I never
saw him before!" she answered with a new outburst
of naïveté.

Monday, August 24th.

A letter from Captain
Bradford to Miriam. My
poor Adonis, that I used to ridicule so unmercifully, what
misfortunes have befallen him! He writes that during the
siege at Port Hudson he had the top of his ear shot off
(wonder if he lost any of that beautiful golden fleece
yclept his hair?), and had the cap of his knee removed
by a shell, besides a third wound he does not specify.
Fortunately he is with kind friends. And he gives news of
Lydia, most acceptable since such a time has elapsed
since we heard from her. . . . He says, "Tell Miss Sarah
that the last I saw of John, he was crossing the
Mississippi in a skiff, his parole in his pocket, his
sweet little sister by his side," (O you wretch! at it
again!) "and Somebody else in his heart." How
considerate to volunteer the last statement! Then
followed half a page of commendation for his bravery,
daring, and skill during the siege (the only kind word he
ever spoke of him, I dare say), all looking as though I

was to take it as an especial compliment to myself, and
was expected to look foolish, blush, and say "Thanky"
for it. As though I care!

Monday night.

I consider myself
outrageously imposed upon! I am
so indignant that I have spent a whole evening making
faces at myself. "Please, Miss Sarah, look natural!"
William petitions. "I never saw you look cross before."
Good reason! I never had more cause! However, I stop
in the midst of a hideous grimace, and join in a game
of hide the switch with the children to forget my
annoyance.

Of course a woman is at the bottom of it. Last night
while Ada and Marie were here, a young lady whose
name I decline to reveal for the sake of the sex, stopped
at the door with an English officer, and asked to see me
in the entry. I had met her once before. Remember this,
for that is the chief cause of my anger. Of course they
were invited in; but she declined, saying she had but a
moment, and had a message to deliver to me alone, so
led me apart. "Of course you know who it is from?"
she began. I told a deliberate falsehood, and said no,
though I guessed instantly. She told me the name then.
She had visited the prison the day before, and there
had met the individual whose name, joined to mine,
has given me more trouble and annoyance during
the last few months than it would be possible to
mention. "And our entire conversation was about you,"

she said, as though to flatter my vanity immensely. He
told her then that he had written repeatedly to me,
without receiving an answer, and at last had written
again, in which he had used some expressions which he
feared had offended my reserved disposition. Something
had made me angry, for without returning letter or
message to say I was not displeased, I had maintained a
resolute silence, which had given him more pain and
uneasiness than he could say. That during all this time he
had had no opportunity of explaining it to me, and that
now he begged her to tell me that he would not offend
me for worlds - that he admired me more than any one
he had ever met, that he could not help saying what he
did, but was distressed at offending me, etc. The longest
explanation! And she was directed to beg me to explain
my silence, and let him know if I was really offended,
and also leave no entreaty or argument untried to induce
me to visit the prison; he must see me.

As to visiting the prison, I told her that was
impossible. (O how glad I am that I never did!) But
as to the letters, told her "to assure him that I had
not thought of them in that light, and had passed
over the expressions he referred to as idle words it
would be ridiculous to take offense at; and that my
only reason for persevering in this silence had been
that Brother disapproved of my writing to gentlemen,
and I had promised that I would not write to him.
That I had feared he would misconstrue my

silence, and had wished to explain it to him, but I
had no means of doing so except by breaking my
promise; and so had preferred leaving all explanation
to time, and some future opportunity."

"But you did not mean to pain him, did you?" the
dear little creature coaxingly lisped, standing
on tiptoe to kiss me as she spoke. I assured her that
I had not. "He has been dangerously ill," she continued,
apologizingly, "and sickness has made him more morbid
and more unhappy about it than he would otherwise
have been. It has distressed him a great deal."

I felt awkwardly. How was it that this girl, meeting
him for the first and only time in her life, had contrived
to learn so much that she had no right to know, and
appeared here as mediator between two who were
strangers to her, so far usurping a place she was not
entitled to, as to apologize to me for his sensitiveness,
and to entreat me to tell him he had not forfeited my
esteem, as though she was his most intimate friend, and
I a passing acquaintance? Failing to comprehend it, I
deferred it to a leisure moment to think over, and in the
mean time exerted myself to be affable.

I can't say half she spoke of, but as she was going
she said, "Then will you give me permission to say as
many sweet things for you as I can think of? I'm going
there to-morrow." I told her I would be afraid to give
her carte blanche on such a subject; but that she would
really oblige me by explaining about the

letters. She promised, and after another kiss, and a few
whispered words, left me.

Maybe she exaggerated, though! Uncharitable as the
supposition was, it was a consolation. I was unwilling to
believe that any one who professed to esteem me
would make me the subject of conversation with a
stranger - and such a conversation! So my comfort was
only in hoping that she had related a combination of truth
and fiction, and that he had not been guilty of such folly.

Presently it grew clearer to me. I must be growing in
wickedness, to fathom that of others, I who so short a
time ago disbelieved in the very existence of such a
thing. I remembered having heard that the young lady
and her family were extremely anxious to form his
acquaintance, and that her cousin had coolly informed
Ada that she had selected him among all others, and
meant to have him for a "beau" as soon as she could be
introduced to him; I remembered that the young lady
herself had been very anxious to discover whether the
reputation common report had given me had any
foundation.

As soon as we were alone, I told mother of our
conversation in the entry, and said, "And now I am
certain that this girl has made use of my name to
become acquainted with him."

Thursday, 10th September.

O my prophetic soul! part
of your forebodings are
already verified! And in what an unpleasant way!

Day before yesterday an English officer, not the one
who came here, but one totally unknown to me, said at
Mrs. Peirce's he was going to visit the Confederate
prisoners. He was asked if he knew any. Slightly, he
said; but he was going this time by request; he had any
quantity of messages to deliver to Colonel- from Miss
Sarah Morgan. "How can that be possible, since you
are not acquainted with her?" Ada demanded. He had
the impudence to say that the young lady I have already
mentioned had requested him to deliver them for her,
since she found it impossible. Fortunately for me, I have
two friends left. Feeling the indelicacy of the thing, and
knowing that there must be some mistake that might
lead to unpleasant consequences, Ada and Marie, my
good angels, insisted on hearing the messages. At first
he refused, saying that they were entrusted to him
confidentially; but being assured that they were really
intimate with me, whereas the other was a perfect
stranger, and that I would certainly not object to their
hearing what I could tell a gentleman, he yielded,
fortunately for my peace of mind, and told all.

I can't repeat it. I was too horrified to hear all, when
they told me. What struck me as being most shocking
was my distorted explanation about the letters. It now
set forth that I was not allowed to write myself, but
would be happy to have him write to me; then there was
an earnest assurance that my feelings toward him had
not changed in the least -

Here I sprang from my chair and rushed to the
window for a breath of air, wringing my hands in
speechless distress. How a word more or less, an idea
omitted or added, a syllable misplaced, can transform a
whole sentence, and make what was before harmless,
really shocking!

And if it had not been for Ada and Marie - ! Blessed
angels! they entreated him not to deliver any of his
messages, insisting that there must be a mistake, that if
he knew me he would understand that it was impossible
for me to have sent such a message by a stranger. And
although at first he declared he felt obliged to discharge
the task imposed on him, they finally succeeded in
persuading him to relinquish the errand, promising to be
responsible for the consequences.

"Ah me!" I gasped last night, making frantic grimaces
in the dark, and pinching myself in disgust, "why can't
they let me alone? . . . O women - women! I wish he
could marry all of you, so you would let me alone! Take
him, please; but en grâce don't disgrace me in the
excitement of the race!"

Friday, 25th.

Write me down a witch, a
prophetess, or what you
will. I am certainly something! All has come to pass on
that very disagreeable subject very much as I feared.
Perhaps no one in my position would speak freely on
the subject; for that very reason I shall not hesitate to
discuss it.

Know, then, that this morning, He went North along
with many other Confederate prisoners, to be
exchanged. And he left - he who has written so
incessantly and so imploringly for me to visit his
prison - he left without seeing me. Bon! Wonder what
happened?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Evening.

I have learned more. He
has not yet left; part of the
mystery is unraveled, only I have neither patience nor
desire to seek for more. These women - ! Hush! to
slander is too much like them; be yourself.

My sweet little lisper informed a select circle of
friends the other night, when questioned, that the
individual had not called on me, and, what was more,
would not do so. "Pray, how do you happen to be so
intimately acquainted with the affairs of two who are
strangers to you?" asked a lady present. She declined
saying how she had obtained her information, only
asserting that it was so. "In fact, you cannot expect any
Confederate gentleman to call at the house of Judge
Morgan, a professed Unionist," she continued. So that is
the story she told to keep him from seeing me. She has
told him that we had turned Yankees! All her arts would
not grieve me as much as one word against Brother. My
wrongs I can forget; but one word of contempt for
Brother I never forgive! White with passion I said to my

informant, "Will you inform the young lady that her visit
will never be returned, that she is requested not to
repeat hers, and that I decline knowing any one who
dares cast the slightest reflection on the name of one
who has been both father and brother to me!" This
evening I was at a house where she was announced.
Miriam and I bade our hostess good-evening and left
without speaking to her. Anybody but Brother! No one
shall utter his name before me save with respect and
regard.

This young woman's father is a Captain in the Yankee
navy, and her brother is a Captain in the Yankee army,
while three other brothers are in the Confederate. Like
herself, I have three brothers fighting for the South;
unlike her, the only brother who avows himself a
Unionist has too much regard for his family to take up
arms against his own flesh and blood.

Tuesday, October 6th.

I hope this will be the
last occasion on which I shall
refer to the topic to which this unfortunate book seems
to have been devoted. But it gives me a grim pleasure to
add a link to the broken chain of the curious story, now
and then. Maybe some day the missing links will be
supplied me, and then I can read the little humdrum
romance of What might have been, or What I 'm glad
never was, as easily as Marie tells her rosary.

unspeakable satisfaction. Day before yesterday they left.
Now I can go out as I please, without fear of meeting
him face to face. How odd that I should feel like a
culprit! But that is in accordance with my usual judgment
and consistency. Friday, I had a severe fright. Coming
up Camp Street with Ada, after a ramble on Canal, we
met two Confederates. Everywhere that morning we had
met gray coats, but none that I recognized. Still, without
looking, I saw through my eyelids, as it were, two hands
timidly touch two gray caps, as though the question
"May I?" had not yet been answered. In vain I
endeavored to meet their eyes, or give the faintest token
of greeting. I was too frightened and embarrassed to
speak, and only by a desperate effort succeeded in
bending my head in a doubtful bow, that would have
disgraced a dairy maid, after we had passed. Then,
disgusted with myself, I endeavored to be comforted
with the idea that they had perhaps mistaken me for
some one else; that having known me at a time when I
was unable to walk, they could have no idea of my
height and figure, or walk. So I reasoned, turning down
a side street. Lo! at a respectable distance they were
following! We had occasion to go into a daguerreau
salon. While standing in the light, two gray uniforms,
watching us from the dark recess at the door, attracted
my attention. Pointing them out to Ada, I hurried her
past them downstairs to the street. Faster and
faster we walked, until at the corner I turned to look.

There they were again, sauntering leisurely along. We
turned into another street, mingled in the crowd, and
finally lost sight of them. That fright lasted me an hour or
two. Whose purse have I stolen, that I am afraid to look
these men in the face?

But what has this to do with what I meant to tell?
How loosely and disconnectedly my ideas run out with
the ink from my pen! I meant to say how sorry I am for
my dear little lisper that she failed in her efforts to
conquer the "Hero"; and here I have drifted off in a page
of trash that does not concern her in the least. Well! she
did not succeed, and whatever she told him was told in
vain, as far as she was concerned. He was not to be
caught! What an extraordinary man! Dozens fighting for
the preference, and he in real, or pretended ignorance.

I must do him the justice to say he is the most
guileless, as well as the most honest of mortals.
He told the mother of a rich and pretty daughter what
he thought of me; that my superior did not exist on
earth, and my equal he had never met. Ha! ha! this
pathetic story makes me laugh in spite of myself. Is
it excess of innocence, or just a rôle he adopted?
Stop! His idle word is as good as an oath. He could
not pretend to what he did not believe. He told her
of his earnest and sincere admiration - words!
words! hurry on! She asked how it was then -? Here
he confessed, with a mixture of pride and penitence,
that he had written me letters which absolutely

required answers, and to which I had never
deigned to reply by even a word. That, mortified
beyond measure at my silent contempt, he had tried
every means of ascertaining the cause of my coldness,
but I had never vouchsafed an answer, but had left him
to feel the full force of my harsh treatment without one
word of explanation. That when he was paroled, he had
hoped that I would see him to tell him wherein he had
forfeited my esteem; but I had not invited him to call,
and mortified and repulsed as he had been, it was
impossible for him to call without my permission. . . . Did
my little lisper change the message when the little
midshipman told her it had been intercepted because
too friendly? I know she met this martyred Lion
frequently after that and had many opportunities of
telling him the simple truth, but she evidently did not.

He has gone away with sorely wounded feelings, to
say nothing more; for that I am sincerely sorry; but I
trust to his newly acquired freedom, and his life of danger
and excitement, to make him forget the wrongs he believes
himself to have suffered at my hands. If it was all to be gone
through again (which thank Heaven, I will never be called
upon to endure again), I would follow Brother's advice as
implicitly then as I did before. He is right, and without seeing,
I believe. They tell me of his altered looks, and of his forced,
reckless gaiety which, so strangely out of keeping with his natural
character, but makes his assumed part more conspicuous. No

matter! He will recover! Nothing like a sea voyage for
disorders of all kinds. And we will never meet again;
that is another consolation.

"Notice: The public are hereby informed through
Mrs.-, Chief Manager of the Theatre of High Tragedy,
that Miss Sarah M., having been proved unworthy and
incompetent to play the rôle of Ariadne, said part will
hereafter be filled by Miss Blank, of Blank Street, who
plays it with a fidelity so true to nature that she could
hardly be surpassed by the original."

Monday, November 9th.

Another odd link of the
old, stale story has come to
me, all the way from New York. A friend of mine, who
went on the same boat with the prisoners, wrote to
her mother to tell her that she had formed the
acquaintance of the most charming, fascinating
gentleman among them, no other than my once friend.
Of course, she would have been less than a woman if
she had not gossiped when she discovered who he was.
So she sends me word that he told her he had been
made to believe, as long as he was on parole in New
Orleans, that we were all Unionists now, and that
Brother would not allow a Confederate to enter the
house. (O my little lisper, was I unjust to you?) He told
her that I had been very kind to him when he was in prison,
and he would have forgotten the rest and gladly have called
to thank me in person for the kindness he so gratefully

remembered, if I alone had been concerned; but he
felt he could not force himself unasked into my
brother's house. . . .

She told him how false it was.

Sunday, November 22d.

A report has just reached
us that my poor dear
Gibbes has been taken prisoner along with the rest of
Hayes's brigade.

November 26th.

Yes! It is so, if his own
handwriting is any proof. Mr.
Appleton has just sent Brother a letter he had received
from Gibbes, asking him to let Brother know he was a
prisoner, and we have heard, through some one else,
that he had been sent to Sandusky. Brother has applied
to have him paroled and sent here, or even imprisoned
here, if he cannot be paroled.

Monday, November 30th.

Our distress about Gibbes
has been somewhat
relieved by good news from Jimmy. The jolliest sailor
letter from him came this morning, dated only the 4th
instant from Cherbourg, detailing his cruise on the Georgia
from leaving England, to Bahia, Trinidad, Cape of Good
Hope, to France again. Such a bright, dashing letter! We
laughed extravagantly over it when he told how they
readily evaded the Vanderbilt, knowing she would knock

them into "pie"; how he and the French Captain
quarreled when he ordered him to show his papers, and
how he did not know French abuse enough to enter into
competition with him, so went back a first and second
time to Maury when the man would not let him come
aboard, whereupon Maury brought the ship to with two
or three shots and Jimmy made a third attempt, and
forced the Frenchman to show his papers. He tells it in
such a matter-of-fact way! No extravagance, no idea of
having been in a dangerous situation, he a boy of
eighteen, on a French ship in spite of the Captain's rage.
What a jolly life it must be! Now dashing in storms and
danger, now floating in sunshine and fun! Wish I was a
midshipman! Then how he changes, in describing the
prize with an assorted cargo that they took, which
contained all things from a needle to pianos, from the
reckless spurt in which he speaks of the plundering, to
where he tells of how the Captain, having died several
days before, was brought on the Georgia while Maury
read the service over the body and consigned it to the
deep by the flames of the dead man's own vessel. What
noble, tender, manly hearts it shows, those rough seamen
stopping in their work of destruction to perform the last
rites over their dead enemy. One can fancy their bare
heads and sunburned faces standing in solemn silence
around the poor dead man when he dropped into his
immense grave. God bless the "pirates"!

The last of eighteen sixty-three is passing away as I
write. . . . Every New Year since I was in my teens, I
have sought a quiet spot where I could whisper to
myself Tennyson's "Death of the Old Year," and even
this bitter cold night I steal into my freezing, tireless little
room, en robe de nuit, to keep up my old habit while
the others sleep.

"Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die."

Last night we were thrown
into the most violent state
of commotion by the unexpected entrance of Captain
Bradford. He has been brought here a prisoner, from
Asphodel, where he has been ever since the surrender
of Port Hudson, and taking advantage of his tri-weekly
parole, his first visit was naturally here, as he has no
other friends.

Poor creature, how he must have suffered! The first
glance at his altered face where suffering and passion
have both left their traces unmistakably since we last
met, and the mere sight of his poor lame leg, filled my
heart with compassion.

How he hates Mr. Halsey! I could not forego the
pleasure of provoking him into a discussion about him,
knowing how they hated each other. He would not say
anything against him; understand, that as a gentleman
and a companion, Mr. Halsey was his warmest and best
friend; there was no one he admired more; but he must
say that as a soldier, he was the worst he had ever
seen - not that he was not as brave and gallant a man as
ever lived, but he neglected his duties most shamefully
while visiting Linwood so constantly, eluding the
sentinels daily as he asked for neither pass nor
permission, and consulting only his inclinations instead of
his superior officers or his business. And that last night
at Linwood, when he absented himself without leave,
why could he not have signified to him, his Captain, that
he wished to say good-bye, instead of quietly doing as
he pleased? When the Colonel sent for a report of the
number of men, quantity of forage and ammunition, etc.,
and it was discovered that John Halsey was absent
without leave, with the books locked up and the keys in
his pocket - even after this lapse of time, the fire flashed
through the ice as the Captain spoke. Sergeant Halsey, I
am sorry for you when you reported yourself next day!
All the fun that could have been crowded into an
evening at Linwood could not have repaid you for the
morning's scene. And after all, what was it beyond very
empty pleasure, with a great deal of laughter? He could
have dispensed with it just as well. Looking back, I

Only a few days ago came a letter so cheerful and
hopeful - we have waited and prayed so patiently - at
my feet lies one from Colonel Steadman saying he is
dead. Dead! Suddenly and without a moment's warning
summoned to God! No! it cannot be! I am mad! O
God, have mercy on us! My poor mother! And Lydia!
Lydia! God comfort you! My brain seems afire. Am I
mad? Not yet! God would not take him yet! He will
come again! Hush, God is good! Not dead! not dead!

O Gibbes, come back to us!

11th.

O God, O God, have mercy
on us! George is dead!
Both in a week. George, our sole hope - our sole
dependence.

March.

Dead! Dead! Both dead! O
my brothers! What have we lived
for except you? We, who would have so gladly laid down our
lives for yours, are left desolate to mourn over all we loved
and hoped for, weak and helpless; while you, so strong,
noble, and brave, have gone before us without a murmur.

If we had had any warning or preparation, this would
not have been so unspeakably awful. But to shut one's
eyes to all dangers and risks, and drown every rising
fear with "God will send them back; I will not doubt His
mercy," and then suddenly to learn that your faith has
been presumption and God wills that you shall undergo
bitter affliction - it is a fearful awakening! What glory
have we ever rendered to God that we should expect
him to be so merciful to us? Are not all things His, and is
not He infinitely more tender and compassionate than
we deserve?

We have deceived ourselves wilfully about both. After
the first dismay on hearing of Gibbes's capture, we
readily listened to the assertions of our friends that
Johnson's Island was the healthiest place in the world;
that he would be better off, comfortably clothed and
under shelter, than exposed to shot and shell, half fed,
and lying on the bare ground during Ewell's winter
campaign. We were thankful for his safety, knowing
Brother would leave nothing undone that could add to
his comfort. And besides that, there was the sure hope
of his having him paroled. On that hope we lived all
winter - now confident that in a little while he would be
with us, then again doubting for a while, only to have the
hope grow surer afterwards. And so we waited and
prayed, never doubting he would come at last. He

himself believed it, though striving not to be too hopeful
lest he should disappoint us, as well as himself. Yet he
wrote cheerfully and bravely to the last. Towards the
middle of January, Brother was sure of succeeding, as
all the prisoners had been placed under Butler's control.
Ah me! How could we be so blind? We were sure he
would be with us in a few weeks! I wrote to him that I
had prepared his room.

On the 30th of January came his last letter, addressed
to me, though meant for Lavinia. It was dated the
12th - the day George died. All his letters pleaded that I
would write more frequently - he loved to hear from me;
so I had been writing to him every ten days. On the 3d
of February I sent my last. Friday the 5th, as I was
running through Miriam's room, I saw Brother pass the
door, and heard him ask Miriam for mother. The voice,
the bowed head, the look of utter despair on his face,
struck through me like a knife. "Gibbes! Gibbes!" was
my sole thought; but Miriam and I stood motionless
looking at each other without a word. "Gibbes is dead,"
said mother as he stood before her. He did not speak;
and then we went in.

We did not ask how, or when. That he was dead
was enough for us. But after a while he told us Uncle
James had written that he had died at two o'clock on
Thursday the 21st. Still we did not know how he had
died. Several letters that had been brought remained
unopened on the floor. One, Brother opened,

hoping to learn something more. It was from Colonel
Steadman to Miriam and me, written a few hours after
his death, and contained the sad story of our dear
brother's last hours.

He had been in Colonel Steadman's ward of the
hospital for more than a week, with headache and sore
throat, but it was thought nothing; he seemed to
improve, and expected to be discharged in a few days.
On the 21st he complained that his throat pained him
again. After prescribing for him, and talking cheerfully
with him for some time, Colonel Steadman left him
surrounded by his friends, to attend to his other patients.
He had hardly reached his room when some one ran to
him saying Captain Morgan was dying. He hurried to his
bedside, and found him dead. Captain Steadman, sick
in the next bed, and those around him, said he had been
talking pleasantly with them, when he sat up to reach his
cup of water on the table. As soon as he drank it he
seemed to suffocate; and after tossing his arms wildly in
the air, and making several fearful efforts to breathe, he
died.

"Hush, mother, hush," I said when I heard her cries.
"We have Brother and George and Jimmy left, and
Lydia has lost all!" Heaven pity us! George had gone
before - only He in mercy kept the knowledge of it
from us for a while longer.

On Thursday the 11th, as we sat talking to
mother, striving to make her forget the weary days

we had cried through with that fearful sound of "Dead!
Dead!" ringing ever in our ears, some one asked for
Miriam. She went down, and presently I heard her
thanking somebody for a letter. "You could not have
brought me anything more acceptable! It is from my
sister, though she can hardly have heard from us yet!" I
ran back, and sitting at mother's feet, told her Miriam
was coming with a letter from Lydia. Mother cried at the
mention of her name. O my little sister! You know how
dear you are to us! "Mother! Mother!" a horrible voice
cried, and before I could think who it was, Miriam
rushed in, holding an open letter in her hand, and
perfectly wild. "George is dead!" she shrieked, and fell
heavily to the ground.

O my God! I could have prayed Thee to take mother,
too, when I looked at her. I thought - I almost hoped
she was dead, and that pang spared! But I was wild
myself. I could have screamed! - laughed! "It is false!
Do you hear me, mother? God would not take both!
George is not dead!" I cried, trying in vain to arouse her
from her horrible state or bring one ray of reason to her
eye. I spoke to a body alive only to pain; not a sound of
my voice seemed to reach her; only fearful moans
showed she was yet alive.

Miriam lay raving on the ground. Poor Miriam!
her heart's idol torn away. God help my darling! I
did not understand that George could die until I
looked at her. In vain I strove to raise her from the

ground, or check her wild shrieks for death. "George!
only George!" she would cry; until at last, with the
horror of seeing both die before me, I mastered strength
enough to go for the servant and bid her run quickly for
Brother.

How long I stood there alone, I never knew. I
remember Ada coming in hurriedly and asking what it
was. I told her George was dead. It was a relief to see
her cry. I could not; but I felt the pain afresh, as though
it were her brother she was crying over, not mine. And
the sight of her tears brought mine, too. We could only
cry over mother and Miriam; we could not rouse them;
we did not know what to do.

Some one called me in the entry. I went, not
understanding what I was doing. A lady came to me,
told me her name, and said something about George;
but I could not follow what she said. It was as though she
was talking in a dream. I believe she repeated the words
several times, for at last she shook me and said, "Listen!
Rouse yourself! the letter is about George!" Yes, I said;
he is dead. She said I must read the letter; but I could
not see, so she read it aloud. It was from Dr. Mitchell,
his friend who was with him when he died, telling of his
sickness and death. He died on Tuesday the 11th of
January, after an illness of six days, conscious to the last
and awaiting the end as only a Christian, and one who
has led so beautiful a life, could, with the Grace of
God, look for it. He sent messages to his brothers

and sisters, and bade them tell his mother his last
thoughts were of her, and that he died trusting in the
mercy of the Saviour. George! our pride! our beautiful,
angel brother! Could he die? Surely God has sent all
these afflictions within these three years to teach us that
our hopes must be placed Above, and that it is
blasphemy to have earthly idols!

The letter said that the physicians had mistaken his
malady, which was inflammation of the bowels, and he
had died from being treated for something else. It
seemed horrible cruelty to read me that part; I knew
that if mother or Miriam ever heard of it, it would kill
them. So I begged Mrs. Mitchell never to let them hear
of it. She seemed to think nothing of the pain it would
inflict; how could she help telling if they asked? she
said. I told her I must insist on her not mentioning it; it
would only add suffering to what was already
insupportable; if they asked for the letter, offer to read it
aloud, but say positively that she would not allow any
one to touch it except herself, and then she might pass it
over in silence. I roused Miriam then and sent her to
hear it read. She insisted on reading it herself, and half
dead with grief held out her hands, begging piteously to
be suffered to read it alone. I watched then until I was
sure Mrs. Mitchell would keep her promise. Horrible as
I knew it to be from strange lips, I knew by what I
experienced that I had saved her from a shock that
might cost her her life; and then I went back to mother.

No need to conceal what I felt there! She neither
spoke nor saw. If I had shrieked that he died of ill
treatment, she would not have understood. But I sat
there silently with that horrible secret, wondering if God
would help me bear it, or if despair would deprive me of
self-control and force me presently to cry it aloud,
though it should kill them both.

At last Brother came. I had to meet him downstairs
and tell him. God spare me the sight of a strong man's
grief! Then Sister came in, knowing as little as he. Poor
Sister! I could have blessed her for every tear she shed.
It was a comfort to see some one who had life or feeling
left. I felt as though the whole world was dead. Nothing
was real, nothing existed except horrible speechless
pain. Life was a fearful dream through which but one
thought ran -" Dead - Dead! "

Miriam had been taken to her room more dead
than alive - Mother lay speechless in hers. The shock
of this second blow had obliterated, with them, all
recollection of the first. It was a mercy I envied them; for I
remembered both, until loss of consciousness would
have seemed a blessing. I shall never forget mother's
shriek of horror when towards evening she recalled it. O
those dreadful days of misery and wretchedness! It
seems almost sacrilege to refer to them now. They are
buried in our hearts with our boys - thought of with
prayers and tears.

How will the world seem to us now? What will life
be without the boys? When this terrible strife is

over, and so many thousands return to their homes,
what will peace bring us of all we hoped? Jimmy! Dear
Lord, spare us that one!

November 2d, 1864.

This morning we heard
Jimmy is engaged to Helen
Trenholm, daughter of the Secretary of the Confederate
States. He wrote asking Brother's consent, saying they
had been engaged since August, though he had had no
opportunity of writing until that day - the middle of
September. I cried myself blind. It seems that our last
one is gone. But this is the first selfish burst of feeling.
Later I shall come to my senses and love my sister that
is to be. But my darling! my darling! O Jimmy! How can
I give you up? You have been so close to me since
Harry died!

Alone now; best so.

No. 19 DAUPHINE ST.,
Saturday night, December 31st, 1864.

One year ago, in my
little room in the Camp Street
house, I sat shivering over Tennyson and my desk,
selfishly rejoicing over the departure of a year that
had brought pain and discomfort only to me, and
eagerly welcoming the dawning of the New One
whose first days were to bring death to George and
Gibbes, and whose latter part was to separate me
from Miriam, and brings me news of Jimmy's
approaching marriage. O sad, dreary, fearful Old
Year! I see you go with pain! Bitter as you have

been, how do we know what the coming one has in
store for us? What new changes will it bring? Which of
us will it take? I am afraid of eighteen sixty-five, and
have felt a vague dread of it for several years past.

Nothing remains as it was a few months ago. Miriam
went to Lilly, in the Confederacy, on the 19th of
October (ah! Miriam!), and mother and I have been
boarding with Mrs. Postlethwaite ever since. I miss her
sadly. Not as much, though, as I would were I less
engaged. For since the first week in August, I have been
teaching the children for Sister; and since we have been
here, I go to them every morning instead of their coming
to me. Starting out at half-past eight daily, and returning
a little before three, does not leave me much time for
melancholy reflections. And there is no necessity for
indulging in them at present; they only give pain.

No. 211 CAMP ST.,
April 19th, 1865.

"All things are
taken from us, and become portions
and parcels of the dreadful pasts." . . .

Thursday the 13th came the dreadful tidings of the
surrender of Lee and his army on the 9th. Everybody
cried, but I would not, satisfied that God will still
save us, even though all should apparently be lost.
Followed at intervals of two or three hours by the
announcement of the capture of Richmond, Selma,
Mobile, and Johnston's army, even the stanchest
Southerners were hopeless. Every one proclaimed

Peace, and the only matter under consideration was
whether Jeff Davis, all politicians, every man above the
rank of Captain in the army and above that of Lieutenant
in the navy, should be hanged immediately, or some
graciously pardoned. Henry Ward Beecher humanely
pleaded mercy for us, supported by a small minority.
Davis and all leading men must be executed; the blood
of the others would serve to irrigate the country. Under
this lively prospect, Peace, blessed Peace! was the cry. I
whispered, "Never! Let a great earthquake swallow us
up first! Let us leave our land and emigrate to any desert
spot of the earth, rather than return to the Union, even
as it Was!"

Six days this has lasted. Blessed with the silently
obstinate disposition, I would not dispute, but felt my
heart swell, repeating, "God is our refuge and our
strength, a very present help in time of trouble," and
could not for an instant believe this could end in an
overthrow.

This morning, when I went down to breakfast at
seven, Brother read the announcement of the
assassination of Lincoln and Secretary Seward.

"Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."
This is murder! God have mercy on those who did it!

murder. Let historians extol blood-shedding; it is
woman's place to abhor it. And because I know that
they would have apotheosized any man who had
crucified Jeff Davis, I abhor this, and call it foul murder,
unworthy of our cause - and God grant it was only the
temporary insanity of a desperate man that committed
this crime! Let not his blood be visited on our nation,
Lord!

Across the way, a large building, undoubtedly
inhabited by officers, is being draped in black. Immense
streamers of black and white hang from the balcony.
Downtown, I understand, all shops are closed, and all
wrapped in mourning. And I hardly dare pray God to
bless us, with the crape hanging over the way. It would
have been banners, if our President had been killed,
though!

Saturday, 22d April.

To see a whole city
draped in mourning is certainly an
imposing spectacle, and becomes almost grand when it
is considered as an expression of universal affliction. So
it is, in one sense. For the more violently "Secesh" the
inmates, the more thankful they are for Lincoln's death, the
more profusely the houses are decked with the emblems
of woe. They all look to me like "not sorry for him, but
dreadfully grieved to be forced to this demonstration." So
all things have indeed assumed a funereal aspect. Men
who have hated Lincoln with all their souls, under terror
of confiscation and imprisonment which they understand

is the alternative, tie black crape from every
practicable knob and point to save their homes. Last
evening the B-s were all in tears, preparing their
mourning. What sensibility! What patriotism! a stranger
would have exclaimed. But Bella's first remark was: "Is
it not horrible? This vile, vile old crape! Think of
hanging it out when -" Tears of rage finished the
sentence. One would have thought pity for the
murdered man had very little to do with it.

Coming back in the cars, I had a rencontre that
makes me gnash my teeth yet. It was after dark, and I
was the only lady in a car crowded with gentlemen. I
placed little Miriam on my lap to make room for some
of them, when a great, dark man, all in black, entered,
and took the seat and my left hand at the same instant,
saying, "Good-evening, Miss Sarah." Frightened beyond
measure to recognize Captain Todd 1 of the Yankee
army in my interlocutor, I, however, preserved a quiet
exterior, and without the slightest demonstration
answered, as though replying to an internal question.
"Mr. Todd." "It is a long while since we met," he
ventured. "Four years," I returned mechanically. "You
have been well?" "My health has been bad." "I have
been ill myself"; and determined to break the ice he
diverged with "Baton Rouge has changed sadly." "I
hope I shall never see it again. We have suffered
too much to recall home with any pleasure." "I

understand you have suffered severely," he said,
glancing at my black dress. "We have yet one left in the
army, though," I could not help saying. He, too, had a
brother there, he said.

He pulled the check-string as we reached the house,
adding, "This is it," and absurdly correcting himself with
"Where do you live?" - "211. I thank you. Good-evening";
the last with emphasis as he prepared to follow.
He returned the salutation, and I hurriedly regained
the house. Monsieur stood over the way. A look
through the blinds showed him returning to his
domicile, several doors below.

I returned to my own painful reflections. The Mr.
Todd who was my "sweetheart " when I was twelve
and he twenty-four, who was my brother's friend, and
daily at our home, was put away from among our
acquaintance at the beginning of the war. This one, I
should not know. Cords of candy and mountains of
bouquets bestowed in childish days will not make my
country's enemy my friend now that I am a woman.

Tuesday, May 2d, 1865.

While praying for the
return of those who have
fought so nobly for us, how I have dreaded their
first days at home! Since the boys died, I have
constantly thought of what pain it would bring to see
their comrades return without them - to see families
reunited, and know that ours never could be again,
save in heaven. Last Saturday, the 29th of April,

seven hundred and fifty paroled Louisianians from Lee's
army were brought here - the sole survivors of ten
regiments who left four years ago so full of hope and
determination. On the 29th of April, 1861, George left
New Orleans with his regiment. On the fourth
anniversary of that day, they came back; but George
and Gibbes have long been lying in their graves. . . .

June 15th.

Our Confederacy has gone
with one crash - the
report of the pistol fired at Lincoln.

Reading this for the
first time, in all these many years,
I wish to bear record that God never failed me, through
stranger vicissitudes than I ever dared record. Whatever
the anguish, whatever the extremity, in His own good
time He ever delivered me. So that I bless Him to-day
for all of life's joys and sorrows - for all He gave - for
all He has taken - and I bear witness that it was all
Very Good.